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RlDlNGDALE FlOWER SHOW 


BY 

REV. DAVID BEARNE, S.J. 


ILLUSTRATED BY T. BAINES 


Nkw York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BKNZIGER BROTHERS 


PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE 

1907 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 19 ’906 

Copyright Entry 
CLASS XXc., No. 

/(o 3 

COPY B. 



CHARLIE CHITTYWICK. By Rev. David Bearne, 
S.J. Handsomely bound in cloth. 85 cents. 

A book for boys and girls. 

A book for grown-nps. 

THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. By Rev. David 

Bearne, S.J. With many illustrations and handsomely 
bound. 85 cents. 

RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. By Rev. David 

Bearne, S.J. With many illustrations and handsomely 
bound. 85 cents. 

“There is no doubt that Father Bearne hits the style that boys 
love.” 


Copyright, 1906, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Ridingdale Flower Show 7 

After the Show 27 

Miss Rattle 47 

Father Horbury’s Story 63 

The Colonel’s Nephews 75 

The Coming of Arthur 87 

The Remaining of Arthur 99 

The Colonel’s Luncheon in 

The Conduct of Arthur 117 

Lance’s Big Temptation 167 

Lance in London 187 


I am a chronicler of little things — 

Comings and goings, children’s words and ways, 
Chance guests, new hosts, and single happy days. 

And household legends. These have been the springs 
Of much of my best knowledge : I have striven 
To make my . . . world a glass 

Where shapes and shadows, like a breath, might pass. 
Dimly reflecting motions out of Heaven, 


Faber, 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


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RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


1 . 


For a man who had long 
ago retired from business, 
William Lethers’ life was a 
busy one. But it was a very 
regular one. So regular 
v/as it that supposing Lance 
or one of his brothers 
wished to see William par- 
ticularly — and there were 
times when William, and 
William only, could give 
them the help or the tool 
they sought — they had only 
to recall the exact time o’ 
day to know just exactly 
in what duty Mr. Lethers 
was engaged. 

Needless to say, after 
spending many long years 
in hard work that would 



not permit him to hear Mass except on Sundays, once he 
retired into private life William joyfully availed himself 


8 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


of the privilege of the Daily Sacrifice. His hobbies were 
gardening and the care of pigs. Be quite sure that the en- 
tire length of a fairly spacious kitchen-garden lay between 
Mrs. Lethers’ speckless domicile and the piggeries: other- 
wise that lady would have cheerfully sacrificed the delights 
of ham and bacon-curing, the rendering of seam, the dis- 
tribution of fries, and the making of pork-pies. 

That the pigs should be kept thus remote was the only 
condition upon which Mrs. Lethers would allow her husband 
to buy and rear and feed and fatten them, and though 
William found the walk between his back door and the pig- 
sties a rather long one, particularly in wintry weather, 
he was not at all anxious that the distance should be di- 
minished. Besides, Tommie was now approaching the help- 
ful age, and there were tasks connected with the piggery 
and the pigs that were accepted by him as a sort of right. 
Only once had Tommie forgotten to change the special pair 
of clogs set aside (in an outhouse) for his use in the sties- 
one piece of forgetfulness of this sort was enough — for 
Tommie. 

Whenever the weather was good, be it summer or winter, 
William spent by far the greater part of the day in his 
garden. Neighbours used to remark that ‘‘ Billy growed 
about iverything a body could mention ; ” and certainly, if 
we except asparagus, there was very little in the fruit and 
vegetable line of which he could not produce excellent 
specimens. Even Toxon, the market gardener, had to ad- 
mit this. Tommie never lacked friends among his school- 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


9 


fellows ; but in July and August, to say nothing of Septem- 
ber and October, the* number of boys who “ chummed up to 
him ” became enibarrassingly large. However, Tommie 
had a grandmother equal to the task of interviewing and 
scattering an entire regiment of interlopers ; a grandmother 
who was superior in worth and affection to a whole army 
of mere apple-lovers. 

In spite of William’s failure to grow satisfactory aspara- 
gus, his garden remained to him a source of constant pleas- 
ure and not a little profit. He had no separate orchard, 
but the dwarf apple-trees planted from end to end of the 
really big plot of ground quite justified the boast of the 
man who sold them, and added much to the beauty of what 
was essentially a kitchen-garden. At the Ridingdale Flower 
Show, if William did not carry off half a dozen prizes it 
was only because, in past years, he had been such a fre- 
quent prize-winner that he now sent in his specimens of 
potatoes, peas, beans, and onions — William was very 
strong in onions — labelled “ Not for competition.” 

I think it must have been the day when Tommie Lethers 
announced to a group of admiring, but somewhat envious, 
lads his possession of a young pig — his very own, mind 
you ! — that he was accused by one of the young Kikertons 
of thinking himself everybody.” Now Tommie had his 
faults — so his grandmother said, and she was a truthful 
woman — but swagger was scarcely one of them. Yet it 
had been charged against him more than once by Dicky 
Kikerton, and on very small provocation. At the age of 


10 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


thirteen or so, how can one fail to be pleased with the 
present of a real live pig, however young it may be? And 
is it reasonable to hide the fact of such a benefaction from 
one’s companions? 

The truth was that Tommie had more than once excited 
the jealousy of his friend Dicky: more than once had Rich- 
ard Kikerton’s eldest son accused William Lethers’ grand- 
son of “ thinking himself everybody.” The accusation 
hurt Tommie, and if it had not been for the joy of owning 
a living, squeaking, grubbing pig, he would have been sad 
at heart. For he and Dicky had always been chums — 
saving for the brief perio'^ds necessary for the healing of 
slight tiffs — much, let it be said, to the advantage of 
Master Kikerton. 

Whether it was that Dicky’s disposition was naturally an 
envious one, or whether it was the reiterated boast of his 
mother that she had once been housemaid to the Duchess 
of Margate, I cannot be sure. Perhaps among all the 
boys at the Catholic elementary school, Tommie was the 
most well-to-do, and therefore the most liable to be an 
object of envy. For his grandparents were in no sense of 
the word poor, and, if they had chosen to be foolish, might 
very well have ranked themselves among the class known 
in Ridingdale as “ bettermost sort o’ folks.” 

So, among other things, Tommie’s clothes were always 
very neat and clean, and his clogs were as well-polished and 
well-fitting as those of the Squire’s boys. Moreover, Tom- 
mie had the knack not only of making himself tidy, but of 


RIDING DALE FLOWER SHOW 


II 


keeping so: to the Kikertons this was one of the unknown 
arts. 

But it was the notice taken of Tommie by Lance Rid- 
ingdale and his brothers that occasionally filled the Kiker- 
ton breast with envy. Of course Tommie was a singer, 
and a good one; but that (I suppose they thought) did 
not justify him in giving himself airs: though if we are 
not to expect airs from a vocalist — however, let us be 
serious. Doubtless, it was trying when, on a holiday for 
example, Dicky called for Tommie and found Master Lance 
and his brothers in possession of the whole Lethers’ es- 
tablishment, from the pigsties and rabbit-hutches to Wil- 
liam’s upstairs workshop and Mrs. Lethers’ parlour and 
piano. It is not nice to have your calculations and antici- 
pations all upset, even though you may have reckoned with- 
out your host. At the same time, it really does take two 
people to make an engagement of any kind. 

It was the day of the Ridingdale Flower Show and a 
general holiday. Now on most holidays Tommie was avail- 
able for cricket or similar purposes and generally played 
with the Kikertons and other schoolmates. Dicky knew 
that by ten o’clock Tommie would have finished most of the 
odd jobs which on such days he always did for his grand- 
mother, and, since the Flower Show did not open to the 
public until two o’clock, a long morning at the wicket 
seemed the most reasonable thing in the world. 

What then was Dicky’s chagrin when on calling for 
Tommie he found him possessed by the Squire’s boys who 


12 


RIDING DALE FLOWER SHOW 


were in William’s shop hunting with great perseverance 
for the inevitable bit of something, not too thick or too 
thin, or too anything,” which was the pressing need of the 
moment. For George and Lance were putting the finish- 
ing touches to one of those models of landscape gardening 
for which the Ridingdale Show was famous, and over 
which George and the rest racked their ingenuity annually. 



The model for the present year was on a bigger and 
more daring scale than usual, and included not only a pretty 
landscape in oils, painted by George, but a terrace garden 
of real flowers in the Italian style, and a playing-fountain 
of unique design and delicate workmanship. That it would 
get a prize was beyond doubt, for though to many specta- 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


13 


tors these models were the chief attraction of the Show, 
it never happened that more than three specimens were 
sent in, and there were always three prizes, first, second, 
and third. George’s model was already at the Show, but 
in its transit from the Hall to Joyce’s close, the foundations 
of the “ marble ” fountain had become loosened, and he 
and Lance immediately made a rush to William’s shop for 
tools and materials. 

“ I reckon t’ young gentlemen’ll want Tommie, this 
morning,” Mrs. Lethers announced to the disappointed 
Dicky Kikerton y “ I heard one of ’m ask him to go back 
t’ ’all with ’em when they’ve finished at t’ Show. Nay, 
it’s a no use your ’anging about,” she continued as Dicky 
and his six or eight friends showed no disposition to go 
away: “Tommie’s got to finish his pigs and get me some 
plums afore he can go anywhere.” 

On wet days, or when severe weather made gardening 
impossible, William sat in the room he called his shop, and 
cheerfully took up little jobs of clog-rnaking or mending. 
It pleased him to keep in touch with his old trade, and, 
though there was now no question of money-making, he 
liked to prove to his friends that his hand had not lost its 
cunning, and that he could still turn out a neatly-made and 
well-fitting clog. Moreover, now and then he loved to be 
able to “ find ” a pair which by some seeming accident 
“ happened to be ” just the very fit for somebody or other 
whose immediate need of them was apparent. For, in the 
doing of charitable actions, William was the most artful 


14 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


dodger I have ever known. Simple and straightforward as 
a child, and ordinarily quite incapable of anything approach- 
ing finesse, when he wanted to do anybody a kindness his 
subtlety, or diplomacy, or whatever you choose to call it, 
was amazing. 

In the matter of mending, at any rate of re-ironing, un- 
der his grandfather’s tuition Tommie was becoming expert. 
For some time past he had been able to fettle his own foot- 
gear, and nothing gave him more satisfaction than to get 
the opportunity of exercising his skill upon the clogs of 
Lance and his brothers. Naturally, however, they were 
somewhat unwilling to take advantage of his good-nature, 
though they were always pleased enough to learn, either 
from him or his grandfather, how to do things for them- 
selves. 

So it came to pass that William’s workshop became a 
favourite haunt of the boys at the Hall, particularly on wet 
holiday afternoons, or when their operations in Arts and 
Crafts were suspended for want of a necessary tool or the 
inevitable bit of material. For this upstairs room was a 
sort of curiosity-shop as well as a working place, and its 
contents were bewilderingly various. Both William and 
his wife had a weakness for sales by auction, though their 
bidding was cautious and their discrimination keen. 

“ I do believe, William,” said Lance on the morning of 
the Flower Show, '' that if I looked in here every day I 
should find something I’d never seen before.” 

Very like, sir,” chuckled William as he turned over 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


IS 


a box of scraps to find the exact atom of leather George 
needed. “We’ve got a bit o’ iverything, like — except 
brass.” 

“ But you’ve got loads of brass here, William,” pro- 
tested Lance pointing to an old fender, an assortment of 
door-nobs — “always handy” was one of William’s jokes 
— various specimens of hardware, and a heap of brass toe- 
caps and clog-latchets. 

“ A dunna mean that sort o’ brass,” laughed William. 

“ Oh, I see ; you mean money. Of course you don’t 
keep that here. We all know you’re not a miser, Wil- 
liam.” 

“ A good deal more like a spendthrift,” Mrs. Lethers 
said as she entered the room and overheard Lance’s last 
sentence. “ An’ he’ll make Tommie as bad as ’isself.” 

“ ’Ark at her! ’’ exclaimed William looking quite pleased 
at the charge. “ Ax her. Master Lance, who’d gie t’ shawl 
ofr her back if a poor body wanted it.” 

“ Mind thee own business ! ” she retorted, diving into a 
scrap bag that hung behind the door. “ I’m thinking. Mas- 
ter George, what you want’ll be here. There’s some bits 
o’ soft leather i’ this bag.” 

“ The very thing,” said George, as she displayed the 
scraps. “ Thank you so much. This is just what we want. 
Now if Tommie will give me a nail or two — not a hob- 
nail, Tommie — we shall get on.” 

Apropos of nails, the boys had a little joke against their 
friend Tommie, who was rather given to making experi- 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


i6 

ments in the art of clog-making, for he could now do much 
more than mend or re-iron. Harry had once jokingly 
suggested that clog-irons should be made in the shape of 
letters of the alphabet, so that every wearer might carry 
his initials on his soles. Lance said that, joking apart, it 
was not always easy to find your own pair out of a heap, 
and if you wrote your name on the sole the letters were soon 
rubbed out, while to write it upon the leather inside was not 
at all easy. Tommie made various experiments with bits 
of iron, but none of them was quite satisfactory. How- 
ever, one day he got a brilliant idea. 

“ Look here, Master Lance,” said Tommie, taking up a 
pair of his own clogs. “ With some good hobnails you can 
shape any letter you like. I did this T and L all by myself. 
Only youVe got to mind, sir, and have a good thick sole or 
you’ll split the wood: that’s the worst of it. This is my 
heaviest pair what I use for cleaning pigsties : they’re that 
thick they’ll stand anything.” 

Lance was much taken with the idea, and quite scorned 
Tommie’s objection that the addition of a quantity of hob- 
nails to the double irons with which his (Lance’s) clogs 
were already weighted would make them too heavy. How- 
ever, when he came to try the experiment he found that 
owing to the positon of the two sets of irons there was 
really not room to form a well-shaped letter, so that he 
reluctantly consented to wait until he had a new pair of 
clogs. Meanwhile he cut the letter L on one sole, and R 


RIDING DALE FLOWER SHOW 


17 


on the other. And thereby hangs a tale — much too long 
to tell here and now. 

“If Tommie can help us this afternoon we shall be so 
much obliged,” said George to Mrs. Lethers as he was 
leaving the shop. “ The fountain will want looking after 
and we don’t quite like to be on view near our own work — 
all the time.” 

Both Mrs. Lethers and her husband gave their delighted 
assent. After dinner, they said, Tommie would have noth- 
ing to do except to be at the Show. 

“ Come straight to us then at two o’clock,” said George 
to the grinning Tommie, “ and we’ll show you how the 
thing works.” 






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RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. 

11 . 

What out-door fete is pleasanter than an exhibition of 
flowers and fruit? Certainly the Ridingdale Show was a 
delight. The day was superbly fine, and from early after- 
noon until sunset crowds of happy people streamed through 
the four great marquees. The Volunteer band played ad- 
mirable music. The tents were full of colour and per- 
fume, and it was not easy to say whether the roses and 
lilies and carnations gave more pleasure to sight and smell 
than the raspberries and strawberries and plums. At any 
rate, when Harry Ridingdale was reminded by his brothers 
that it was time to go home for tea, his reply was that he 
had got the very pick o' teas. However, when George re- 
minded him that the carnations he was looking at were 
not picotees he said that he would at once join the home- 
ward movement. 


19 


20 


RIDING DALE FLOWER SHOW 


The boys were in high feather, for they had won the first 
prize for the “ Design in Landscape Gardening,” and were 
already considering the application of the two guineas. So 
great was the crowd round their model that George had had 
some difficulty in getting at it to manipulate the fountain — 
which they soon decided to leave altogether in the proud 
charge of Tommie Lethers. Modesty kept them from wish- 
ing to exhibit themselves along with their handiwork, for 
the admiration of the spectators was as loud as it was sin- 
cere. 

So from two o’clock in the afternoon the delighted Tom- 
mie mounted guard over what he certainly looked upon as 
a masterpiece of beauty and skill, and took no little pleas- 
ure in turning the fountain on and off at stated intervals, 
and doing whatever was needful for its replenishing, as 
well as for the refreshing of the flowers. 

William’s not-for-competition onions and peas were, as 
usual, highly commended, both by the judges and the spec- 
tators, and Colonel Ruggerson’s peaches and nectarines 
came in for nearly as much admiration as a plate of gigantic 
gooseberries exhibited by the market-gardener Toxon. 

At a little after eight o’clock that same evening, Tommie 
Lethers was returning home from the Flower Show, feel- 
ing very pleased with himself, the Show, and the world 
generally. 

William and his wife were already at home, and while 
Tommie ran gaily up the lane, whistling a tune that he 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


21 


had just heard played by the band, and thinking what a 
delightful day he had had — just as he came to the gate of 
Toxon’s garden he heard a gruff voice suddenly exclaim, 
“ Ha! here he is!” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Toxon himself, stepping out of the shadow 
of a big tree, and seizing Tommie by the arm, weVe been 
a-waitin’ for you, my lad.” 

‘‘What do you want?” asked the astonished Tommie, 
trying to free himself from the man’s grasp. 

“ I want a good ash-plant,” said Toxon grimly: “ so do 
you, for that matter. And you’ll get it. Here, Jim,” he 
said to his assistant, “ where’s that stick? ” 

“ You let me go,” cried Tommie struggling in the man’s 
strong grasp. 

“ Ay,” chuckled Toxon, “ I’ll let thee go, lad, when 
thou’st had thee welting. I’ll learn thee to steal my plums : 
I will that” 

“ Plums! ” exclaimed the indignant Tommie: “ I’ve never 
seen your plums.” 

“ P’raps not,” chuckled the market-gardener : “ dessay 
you shut your eyes while you took ’em.” 

“ I’ve never been in your garden once in my life,” said 
Tommie, resisting the man’s effort to drag him along. 

The statement was literally true, for though William 
Lethers and Toxon always spoke when they met they had 
no dealings of any kind with one another. In a small 
way they were rivals, for on more than one occasion Wil- 
liam had surpassed Toxon in the exhibited articles of peas 


22 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 


and potatoes; but the market-gardener was a Dissenter of 
the rabid and aggressive type, and his language concern- 
ing Catholics — particularly if they were not customers — 
was bitter and abusive. 

‘‘ A thief’s generally a liar,” said Toxon, giving the ash- 
plant a swish in the air to test its suppleness, and we know 
very well that a Papist is both at once. Let’s show him 
his own footmarks, Jim, and see what he’s got to say to 
em. 

Firmly held and dragged along by two strong men, Tom- 
mie was soon brought to the foot of a rifled plum-tree. 
There to his horror and surprise he saw plentiful im- 
pressions of his own initials clearly stamped all over the 
soft soil. The sight stupefied him. 

“ I reckon them’s your clogs right enough, eh ? ” asked 
the gardener triumphantly. “ Not much doubt about that 
there T.L., is there now? ” 

Tommie tried to speak, but could not. Not only were 
these marks a perfect reproduction of the nails he had driven 
into his clog-soles, but he doubted if there was another boy 
in all the Dale whose clogs were similarly adorned. If he 
had been a sleep-walker he would have concluded that he 
had done the deed unconsciously: btit Tommie was not a 
somnambulist. And the out-house in which this particular 
pair of clogs was kept was, or ought to have been, locked. 

Is them your footmarks, or is they not? ” roared Toxon. 

Half-mechanically Tommie looked from the footprints to 


RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW 23 

the clogs he was that moment wearing. The gardener 
laughed satirically. 

‘‘ O we know you’ve changed ’em all right since you was 
here i’ the afternoon,” said Toxon. You Romans is 
pretty clever always : only sometimes you arn’t clever 
enough.” 

“ I never took — one of ’em ! ” Tommie managed to gasp. 

No lad, you’re reet there,” laughed the gardener : I 
reckon you took about a hundred and fifty.” 

I never touched one of your plums ! ” the boy cried out 
as Toxon told him to take his jacket off. 

“ Knocked ’em down wi’ a stick, most like,” the man 
answered dryly, and got a mate to pick ’em up. Eh, 
but you Roman Catholics are deep uns.” 

“ But I’m sure and certain ” Tommie was beginning 

when, at a nod from his master, the assistant took hold of 
the boy and after stripping him of jacket and waistcoat 
stretched him out on a bench close by. 

It is enough to say that even if Tommie had stolen the 
plums the flogging would have been much too severe. 




AFTER THE SHOW 
















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AFTER THE SHOW. 


1 . 

Father Horbury did not notice Tom- 
mie’s or his grandfather’s absence 
from Mass on the morning following 
the Flower Show. But an hour or two 
later, when the priest went to the ele- 
mentary school for catechism, he was 
surprised to hear from the master that 
Tommie was ill in bed. Calling at the 
Lethers’ cottage as SDon as he left the 
school, Father Horbury heard a very 
sad story. 

William had gone to see the Squire, 

Mrs. Lethers said, and the priest at 
once determined to set out for the 
Hall; but she would not let him go 
until he had seen Tommie. 

“ He cried more last night. Father, than he’s ever done 
afore in all his life,” Mrs. Lethers said, herself weeping 
freely. “ It was iver such a time before we could find out 
what’d happened to t’ lad. He come in about ’ar-past eight 
and throw’d hisself down on t’ sofa here and sobbed just 
as if he’d break his heart. It’s the outrageousest thing I 

27 



28 


AFTER THE SHOW 


iver heerd on since I was born into this world. But if 
there’s law to be got we’ll have it on that villain Toxon.” 

Much shocked and distressed, Father Horbury did his 
best to comfort and soothe both Tommie and his grand- 
mother. He saw at once that a robbery had been com- 
mitted by somebody, that the somebody had borrowed Tom- 
mie’s clogs, and that the somebody must have been ac- 
quainted with the Lethers’ back premises. The priest 
greatly feared that the thief might turn out to be a Catho- 
lic school-boy. 

Very anxious about this, and grieved at the sight of 
Tommie, who, as Mrs. Lethers truly said, was one mass of 
weals and bruises. Father Horbury set out for the Hall 
with a heavy heart. He knew that, for many reasons, 
anything like law proceedings between William and Toxon 
would be very unfortunate. The Ridingdale Dissenters 
had lately shown themselves very bitter against the Catho- 
lics, chiefly on the subject of education, and anything that 
tended to bring the Catholic elementary school into dis- 
credit would give the enemy untold satisfaction. If Wil- 
liam prosecuted Toxon, the gardener would be certain to 
try to find out the real thief and set the law in motion on 
his own account. Within the memory of any one living, 
only one Catholic boy, and he a stranger, had ever ap- 
peared before the Ridingdale magistrates, and the priest 
was naturally anxious that such a fair record should not 
be broken. 


AFTER THE SHOW 


29 


It is not always the big events of life that give the 
greatest amount of trouble. The commission of some mor- 
tal sin, for example, does not always involve the unhappi- 
ness and disturbance occasioned by an act which may only 
amount to a venial sin. Without deciding the exact degree 
of sinfulness in the present case, it is certain that for several 
days after the Ridingdale Flower Show Father Horbury 
and others spent a very troubled and anxious time. 

For a good twenty-four hours William and his wife were 
obdurate. -They listened to everything Father Horbury 
urged, but they wanted to have the law on Toxon, they said, 
and the law they were determined to have. Then scarcely 
had the priest persuaded them not to take out the summons 
than Colonel Rugger son unwittingly upset Father Hor- 
bury’s plan by telling William that “ if that whining hypo- 
crite Toxon was brought up before him [the Colonel] he’d 
give him three months without the option of a fine.” 
Father Horbury had then to tackle the Colonel, and to 
begin with William and his wife all over again. 

During the same period. Father Horbury and the school- 
master were cautiously trying to discover the actual stealer, 
or stealers, of the fruit; more particularly they wanted to 
find out the borrower of Tommie’s clogs. They both knew 
that what is called school-boy honour is sometimes very like 
the “ honour ” that obtains among thieves, and that it will 
not bear a strain of any kind. 

“ We could soon do it by questioning them separately 


30 


AFTER THE SHOW 


and privately/’ the schoolmaster suggested. But this was 
just what, for good reasons, Father Horbury did not want 
to do. 

'‘Got any suspicions?” asked the Colonel when the 
priest talked it over with him. 

" Not very strong ones. Of course there is always a boy 
one thinks of in connection with such things ; but one might 
be hideously wrong.” 

“ Take my advice. Father, and question him. If he 
hasn’t done it he probably knows who has. Lads of that 
class give one another away like anything. The poor al- 
ways do, you know.” 

" Well, it is about all they have to give away,” said the 
priest drily. “ But as old public school-boys, you and I 
know very well that such ' giving away ’ is not .confined to 
the poor.” 

The Colonel snorted. He had no reply, because only a 
week or two before he had related to the priest a shameful 
instance of tale-telling of which he, the Colonel himself, 
had been the victim as a boy. 

Though both the priest and the schoolmaster were deter- 
mined to find out the culprit, they were particularly anxious 
that Toxon should not do so. The hasty man had already 
taken his revenge upon Tommie who, though of course he 
had been an unwilling victim, had really borne the punish- 
ment of another. Moreover, that punishment had greatly 
exceeded the offence, for one of Toxon’s men declared that 
“ if before the theft there was thirty plums left on that there 


AFTER THE SHOW 


31 


tree he’d eat it, roots and all. He had all but stripped it 
himself the morning of the Show.” 

Meanwhile, Tommie was kept at home, though after the 
first day he did not remain in bed. The sehoolmaster ealled 
at the Lethers’ frequently. He had therefore no need of 
the information, but each day he was careful to ask all the 
boys of Tommie’s age if they knew how he was getting on. 
Tommie was a general favourite, and every fourth and fifth 
standard boy gave a report of their friend’s condition — 
all except Dicky Kikerton and Jim Walker. This in itself 
was a little surprising, because the master knew that these 
two lads were among Tommie’s playmates: he also noticed 
that Dicky and Jim seemed just now to be inseparable. 
Both of them kept the Lethers’ house at a distance. 

Meanwhile, two people were trying, and succeeding bet- 
ter than they knew, in frightening Mr. Toxon. The priest 
avoided him, but the Squire took every opportunity of ad- 
vising him to offer an apology to William and his wife, 
and to make some compensation. Dr. Nuttlebig declared 
he would force him to do both. 

Remember,” said the doctor with much emphasis, if 
the case ever comes into court I shall be called to give 
evidence. And I won’t spare you. For, mind you, I can 
say on oath that I never before saw a boy so brutally han- 
dled. Besides,” added the doctor, you know very well 
that you have got no defence. You couldn’t have thought 
that the lad would be such an idiot as to rob your garden 
in a pair of clogs that betrayed him wherever he set his 


32 


AFTER THE SHOW 


foot. Fact is, Toxon, there was a good deal of spite and 
malice on your side of the business. People are beginning 
to say very ugly things about you, and I don’t wonder at 
it.” 

Toxon blustered a good deal on this occasion, and de- 
clared that he had acted within his rights and was ready 
to take the consequences : in his heart, however, he was 
thoroughly alarmed. His wife was still more alarmed. 
She had sons of her own. 

This woman was a mother, think of that; 

A name which carries mercy in its sound, 

A pitiful meek title one can trust. 

In some respects she knew her husband better than he 
knew himself. Like him, she was a Dissenter : unlike him, 
she believed that some Catholics were very good people. 
She respected both William Lethers and his wife, and but 
for Toxon would have been friendly with them. Like the 
God-fearing woman she really was, she betook herself to 
prayer. It is quite certain that as soon as their first shock 
of anger and indignation had passed, Mrs. Lethers and her 
husband did the same. They may be forgiven perhaps 
if at first their feelings towards Toxon were extremely 
bitter. It is easy enough to forgive when the offence is 
slight, and when the matter merely affects one’s self : when 
it involves a grievous injury to one who is very dear to 
us, as well as to ourselves, the difficulty of forgiveness is 
greatly increased. Tommie was the apple of the old peo- 
ple’s eye. That he should be accused of stealing fruit was 


AFTER THE SHOW 


33 


in their mind an outrage; but that the accusation should 
have been promptly followed up by an unmerciful flogging 
Seemed to them at first just one of those deadly injuries 
that they could not, and that God would not expect them 
to, forgive. They were not long in finding out, and admit- 
ting, that they were wrong. 

But when Mrs. Toxon called upon them and mingled her 
tears with those of Mrs. Lethers, even if Satan had ap- 
peared to them as a barrister-at-law, promising to conduct 
their case free of cost, I know they would not have con- 
sented to the prosecution of Toxon. For though the wife 
had come without her husband’s knowledge, she came well 
knowing that in his heart he sorely repented of his rash- 
ness and cruelty, and was not a little afraid of possible 
consequences. 

Next day, Toxon himself spoke to William. Perhaps 
the apology was a little wanting in fulness and humility, 
but it was an apology. The gardener seemed anxious to 
argue as to the amount of compensation, but William cut 
him short. 

It’s not your money I’m wanting,” said Lethers ; “ what 
I want is a proof that you’re in t’ wrong. Gie me what 
you’ve amind.” 

Toxon offered five pounds: Lethers accepted it and 
promptly handed it to Father Florbury — for the church. 
And the way Toxon got to hear that he had contributed 
unwittingly and unwillingly to the support of Catholicism 


was curious. 


34 


AFTER THE SHOW 


Full of sympathy for Tommie, the Squire’s boys had 
come to carry him off to the Hall and, as they said, to 
make him their playmate for the week, hoping that they 
might help him to forget his recent trouble. Naturally, 
they were delighted to hear of Toxon’s apology and com- 
pensation — though they thought the latter somewhat in- 
adequate. It was Tommie who told them what his grand- 
father had done with the money. 

“Well now, Tommie, that’s just spiffing!” said Lance. 
“ ’Pon my word, you know, I think I’d take a licking from 
Toxon if I could earn five pounds by it for Father Hor- 
bury.” 

Tommie admitted that there was some comfort in looking 
at the matter from that point of view. 

“ But,” continued Lance as they passed Toxon’s garden, 
“ I’d give anything to see Toxon’s face when he hears that 
his five-pound note has gone to support what he calls 
Popery.” 

Lance often forgot that his high clear voice had great 
carrying power. Every syllable he had spoken was heard 
by Toxon who was working on the other side of the hedge. 
But I am not at all sure that Lance would have cared to 
see Toxon’s face at that moment, or to have heard his re- 
marks. 

“ I’ve often enough seen gaffer in a nasty temper,” re- 
marked one of the gardener’s men that night, “ but niver 
nowt like what he wor in to-day.” 


AFTER THE SHOW 


35 



11 . 

My readers may remember that on the morning of the 
Flower Show day Dicky Kikerton, Jim Walker, and some 
others had called at the Lethers’ to ask Tommie to play 
cricket with them. Mrs. Lethers had explained that her 
grandson was engaged to help th'e Squire’s boys: she also 
mentioned the fact that Tommie had to pick some plums. 
Perhaps it was a pity she mentioned plums. There were 
times when Dicky Kikerton was admitted to the privacy of 
William’s garden, and allowed to help Tommie in the pick- 
ing of fruit. Such moments were delightfully sweet and 
juicy ones to Dicky, for Mrs. Lethers was generous and 
laid no embargo upon eating. I’d as soon think o’ put- 


36 TIFTER THE SHOW 

tin’ a muzzle on a lad as send him to pick fruit and tell him 
he munna eat none,” she used to say. ^ 

It was bad enough of course that Dicky should be de- 
prived — not so much of Tommie, though he was a desira- 
ble player, as of Tommie’s bat and ball and stumps. 

‘‘Why didn’t you ax her to lend ’em us?” asked Jim 
Walker to Dicky as the group skirted William’s garden and 
tried to catch sight of Tommie. 

“ Axed her afore,” said Dicky sulkily, “ and she would- 
na. We can only get ’em when Tommie’s playin’.” 

“ They’re a stuck-up lot, them Lether’s,” remarked Jim 
Walker as they strolled on, but suddenly pulled up near 
Toxon’s garden. 

“ They are that,” agreed Dicky. “ Think ’emselves 
everybody, just becos ” 

“ My eye, wouldn’t I like some o’ them plums ! ” ex- 
claimed Jim, pointing to a particularly tempting tree laden 
with ripe Victorias. Even grown-ups used to stop to ad- 
mire Toxon’s produce. The group stood for some time in 
silence, feasting hungry eyes upon the ruddy ripe fruit — 
each plum, as they knew, just a gay-coloured little skin full 
of delicious juice. 

“ Come on! ” said Jim Walker at length, somewhat sav- 
agely. You’ve got a ball, Dick, and I’ve got an old bat. 
Let’s make some stumps.” 

It was a good suggestion, and if it had been acted upon 
immediately all would have been well. But an ugly little 
demon called Discontent had taken a firm grip of Dicky 


AFTER THE SHOW 


37 


Kikerton and, instead of shaking him off, the lad encour- 
aged him to remain. Almost any vile thing may be looked 
for from the man or boy who invites the spirit of Discon- 
tent to lodge within him. 

'' Look here,” said Dicky to Sam Wilson, “ you and 
t’others go and get Jim’s bat, and call at ar ’ouse for my 
ball. Jim and me’ell mek some stumps and pitch ’em.” 

After a little “ argifying ” the lads ran off, leaving 
Dicky and Jim standing looking over Toxon’s hedge. 

Want to talk to you,” began Dicky as he watched his 
companions out of sight. 

“ I know what you’re goin’ to say,” said the astute Jim. 

“ Toxon and all his chaps and iverybody ’ll be at t’ 
Show thk afternoon. Won’t be a body about just here ’s 
afternoon.” 

“ ’Ow d’ye know? ” 

Why, ’course there won’t. Everybody ’ll be at t’ 
Show, and folks what isn’t ’ll be lookin’ at t’other folks 
what’s goin’.” 

Tangled as the statement was, Jim admitted that there 
was something in it. 

“ Get into a fine owd ’obble if you’re copped,” added the 
not over-scrupulous but cautious Jim. Toxon’s a cau- 
tion.” 

Who’s to cop us ? ” demanded Dicky. 

One o’ t’ bobbies might be about,” 

Likely ! ” said Dicky with scorn. “ They’ve got to be 
at t’ Show all the time: you kno-w that.” 


38 


AFTER THE SHOW 


Jim was pretending not to be very keen about the pro- 
posed raid upon Toxon’s plums: but he was only pretend- 
ing. 

How many on us is in’t ? he inquired. 

‘‘ On’y me and you. I wunna let on to a soul.’’ 

“ Hum,” said Jim, looking thoughtfully at the sole of one 
of his clogs. ‘‘We mun mind about footmarks. Them 
plums is in t’ middle o’ t’ garden, and you’ve got to tread 
on ground what’s dug. One o’ my irons is broke,” he 
continued, looking at the other clog. “ I might get lagged 
through that.” 

Jim had read detective literature to some purpose: so 
had Dicky. 

“ Both o’ my clog-irons is loose,” said the latter. “ I 
can easy take ’em off this afternoon, and put ’em on again 
when we’ve got the swag.” 

“ What time? ” asked Jim. 

“ Three o’clock’s best. Some on ’em might come back 
for tea ; and they mightn’t go out agin all neit.” 

“Right!” said Jim, with a wink. Their companions 
were in the distance with bat and ball, and the conspirators 
had not yet cut sticks for the wicket. 

For the remainder of the morning they played cricket. 

Dicky had calculated matters very well. By three 
o’clock in the afternoon the neighbourhood of Toxon’s was 
quite deserted. 

There were several ways of getting into the garden 


AFTER THE SHOW 


39 


without passing through, or round by the back of, the house, 
and the two thieves elected to approach it by the meadow 
that skirted William Lethers’ pigsties. It may have been 
the sight of the pigs that gave Dicky his base and treach- 
erous idea of putting on Tommie Leathers’ clogs. 

More than once he had been present when Tommie was 
cleaning out the sties, and Dicky had not failed to notice 
that when his friend had finished he always went to an out- 
house not far from the kitchen door and changed the clogs 
he had been wearing for another pair. If only the door of 
that out-house had been left open, thought Dicky, what 
easier than to borrow Tommie’s clogs? 

Very cautiously and not without a fear that, after all, 
some member of the family might not have gone to the 
Show, the two lads crept up to the out-house and tried the 
door. It ought to have been locked, but it was not. 

Poor Tommie! He had himself shown Dicky Kikerton 
the two symmetrical initials that he had formed with nails. 
He had laughed heartily too when his grandfather told him 
that he was evidently determined to make his mark in the 
world. Only a very innocent boy would have ventured to 
advertise his movements so plainly. 

“This is luck!” whispered Dicky to Jim. “You keep 
a good look-out ! Bother ! I canna get ’em on ! ” 

They were a rather tight fit for Jim Walker, but after a 
time he got them on and at once made hasty tracks for the 
market-gardener’s plums. 


40 


AFTER THE SHOW 


III. 



It was the boys’ confes- 
sion day and, to the sur- 
prise of every youngster 
who presented himself at 
Father Horbury’s box, a 
strange priest was sitting 
therein. They knew of 
course that once or twice 
a year Father Horbury al- 
ways exchanged pulpit 
and confessional with 
some brother priest, but 
as a rule notice of the fact was given a week beforehand. 
This time he had not hinted at his approaching absence. 

How heartily the poor sinner thanks God for such a 
means of pardon and grace as is the Sacrament of Pen- 
ance ! It would be hard to say by what class of the faith- 
ful this huge privilege is most appreciated ; it is certain 
that the young do not value it the least. The schoolmas- 
ter used to declare that confession mornings were quite un- 
like any other times, and that in some cases the grace of 
God seemed to make itself almost visible upon the faces 
of his pupils. This morning his eyes involuntarily wan- 
dered to Dicky Kikerton and Jim Walker. 

From the beginning of Schools it had been 'clear to the 
master that both these lads looked uneasy and disturbed. 


AFTER THE SHOW 


41 


Now and again he noticed that one made signals to the 
other. Once or twice he thought Kikerton was encourag- 
ing the other to do or say something. However, the mid- 
morning break arrived, and the entire school passed into 
the playground. 

But before the master could join them, Kikerton and 
Walker returned to the school-room and asked if they could 
speak to him — “private.” 

They had a tale to tell, and they found the telling of it 
somewhat hard — or would have done so if the master had 
not anticipated most of its details. He did not make light 
of the theft, but he made much more of their treacherous 
act towards their friend and school-fellow. 

“ This they seemed most sensible of, I am glad to say,” 
the master afterwards told Father Horbury. “ Both of 
them had had a terrible week, they said, and I can well 
believe it. They looked as if they hadn’t slept for several 
nights. Of course the fear of prison was in their minds, 
but at the same time, Father, they were, both of them, as 
sorry as two boys could well be. In fact, after a time I 
began to pity them, and to wonder if they had not been 
sufficiently punished. However, I told them that they had 
earned a very sound flogging at the least, and I asked them 
if they would take it from Mr. Toxon, or Mr. Lethers, or 
from the police. This brought on a storm of weeping and 
imploring such as I have rarely witnessed in boys. I sug- 
gested that perhaps they preferred to be punished by me, 
and — well. Father, it was the first time that I ever saw 


42 


AFTER THE SHOW 


lads look grateful at the prospect of a thrashing. Their 
eagerness and anxiety to be dealt with at once would have 
been almost amusing if they had looked less haggard and 
troubled. 

“ I at once gave them a moderately severe birching, and 
when at the end of it I assured them that nobody except 
your Reverence would hear anything about the matter from 
me, though I knew they were in pain, they looked almost 
happy. They said that they wanted you to know all about 
it, and would I please tell you before they went to confes- 
sion. They did not know you were away.” 

“Bravo!” exclaimed Father Horbury: “that’s just as 
it should be: that sounds very hopeful. They sinned and 
suffered, poor chaps; but they have confessed and done 
penance, I hope? ” 

“ O they went to confession all right. Father.” 

“ And they certainly did penance.” 

“ Yes,” smiled the schoolmaster. “ But I wish. Father, 
you could have seen them when they came to me in the 
morning, and have seen them again as they were leaving 
the church after confession. Even externally, they were 
entirely different beings.” 

“ Well,” said the priest thoughtfully, “ I hope that now 
at any rate, some of our difficulties are over. From some- 
thing I have heard, Fm afraid Mr. and Mrs. Lethers have 
their suspicions — at any rate of Dicky Kikerton. I hope 
it won’t lead to another ruction between the two families.” 

“ The only person who knows the facts, besides ourselves, 


AFTER THE SHOW 


43 


and the two lads, is Dicky’s father. He seems to have 
asked questions, and his son owned up.” 

“ Quite right.” 

He was much distressed, and I rather think he gave 
Dicky a second flogging. Kikerton of course won’t speak 
of the matter. And I fancy Toxon has quite given up 
making inquiries. I’m so glad. Father, the holidays are 
close at hand : Tommie won’t be obliged to meet either 
Walker or young Kikerton for a week or two.” 

“ You are right,” said Father Horbury. “ Tommie is 
going to the seaside with his grandfather and grandmother.” 

“ Better still,” remarked the schoolmaster. 

Perhaps no boy was ever more thoroughly ashamed of 
himself than Dicky Kikerton. Among his school-fellows, 
his “ scarceness ” became a proverb. Report had it that of 
an evening he was not allowed to come out. Somebody 
had called for him and found him buried in a book. This 
was sufficiently astonishing, for Dicky had not hitherto been 
bookish. But in this world good is always arising out of 
evil, and the schoolmaster is reported to have said that a 
considerable amount of good sprang from that ugly and 
treacherous piece of business on the day of the Ridingdale 
Flower Show. 



MISS RATTLE 





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MISS RATTLE. 


Ridingdale had, of course, its due 
meed of spinster ladies. Very use- 
ful members of the Catholic com- 
munity they were too, and Father 
Horbury thanked God for giving 
him so many zealous and self-deny- 
ing helpers in his somewhat un- 
wieldy parish. For these good, un- 
selfish women were unwearied in 
their attendance upon the aged, the 
invalided, and the sick; giving time 
and thought and, as far as their 
sometimes limited means would 
admit, the material help which is 
occasionally easier to command than 
either leisure or sympathy. 

There are spinsters and spinsters, just as there are wives 
and wives. As time goes on, we English people manage 
to get a little politer, a trifle more civilized, perhaps, and 
even our comic literature is, happily, much less occupied 
than it used to be in laughing at old maids and mothers- 
in-law. We are beginning to understand that exceptional 
individuals do not represent a class, or even a majority; 

47 



48 


MISS RATTLE 


that many of the noblest characters among us are found 
in the ranks of mothers-in-law and unmarried ladies. 

I am not saying that every old maid in Ridingdale was a 
model of all the virtues. Some of them had an exceed- 
ingly imperfect control of the tongue; some of them had 
a bowing acquaintance — nothing more I trust — with 
envy, jealousy, and various forms of uncharitableneSvS. 
They were all trying to serve God : some succeeded better 
than others. This may be said of more people than the 
Ridingdale spinsters. 

Some of them were very careful in the matter of evil- 
speaking. One of them had excellent reason to be careful, 
for she had had a very narrow escape of appearing as 
defendant in an action for criminal libel : she knew that it 
was only through the real charity and forbearance of the 
plaintiff that she was saved from the dock. It was a lesson 
she never forgot. 

But there were one or two who, while very chary in-* 
deed of speaking ill of their neighbors, were always eager, 
if not delighted, listeners to the ill-speaking of others. 
They were receivers, rather than thieves, of their acquaint- 
ance’s characters. Not of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Mrs. Dominic, the wife of old Dominic the milk-seller, 
was certainly not one of these. She was above all things 
a good and kindly soul, but, unlike her husband (who 
approached sanctity as nearly as any man you would meet 
in the entire Dale) she was given to Sadness — apparently 
for its own sake. Now we all know that people who make 


MISS RATTLE 


49 


a friend of Sadness are sure to be visited by that mon- 
ster’s sons and daughters — whose very names are so ugly 
that I won’t even write them down in this place. More- 
over, through no fault of her own, poor thing, she was un- 
educated — could not read a line. Such people deserve our 
sympathy and consideration. Gossip is almost the only 
form of recreation they can enjoy. They are cut off from 
an entire world of delightful pleasure, and almost com- 
pelled to think of and speak about what they see with the 
eye and hear with the ear. 

Mrs. Dominic was undoubtedly the champion knitter of 
the Dale. She was never wholly idle. When she was not 
scouring and scrubbing and cleaning and looking after her 
little dairy, she was just knitting. She was an authority 
on knitting. She gave lessons in knitting. It had been 
said of her that she could make a pair of boy’s stockings 
while her competitors were “ turning the heel.” I don’t 
pretend to know what this means; I am quoting old 
Kitty, a great friend of hers, and an absolutely truthful 
woman. Mrs. Dominic bought the best Blarney-fingering 
by the pound; I know this because I have been in Miss 
Rippell’s shop when Mrs. Dominic asked for this wool 
— or is it worsted? I learnt that a pound of Blarney- 
fingering is equal to sixteen skeins of four-ply fingering: 
what either of these may be I, as a mere man, have no 
notion. The point is that the stockings made by Dominic’s 
wife were worth the buying and the wearing. 

So said Mrs. Ridingdale, and as the mother of eleven 


50 


MISS RATTLE 


boys and three girls her testimony may be accepted. So 
said the boys and girls themselves — as many of them, that 
is, as were out of the nursery and capable of an opinion 
upon such a matter; and as they were the wearers, very 
hard wearers too, of these stockings their witness is of 
value. For when you are shod with wood and iron you 
need a stocking to correspond in some measure with the 
strength of your foot-gear. 

Being by immemorial appointment stocking-knitter to 
the family at Ridingdale Flail, during the greater part of 
the year Mrs. Dominic was kept fairly occupied. In sum- 
mer she made the thick winter articles : in the winter she 
prepared the lighter kind for summer wear. In these cir- 
cumstances, outside customers had to take their chance. 
The good woman would not undertake what she could not 
accomplish, and she would allow nothing to interfere with 
her regular work for the Ridingdales. For, needless to 
say, she was devoted to the Squire and all that belonged 
to him and both she and her husband spoke of him in the 
way that Gottlieb and Ursula spoke of Prince Henry. 

Now there was a spinster lady in Ridingdale who was 
known as Miss Rattle. Her real name was something 
quite different, but if I ever heard it I have forgotten it. 

I have been told that if you referred to her by any other 
title people did not know of whom you were speaking. At 
the same time, I don’t suppose that the most daring person 
ever ventured to address the lady to her face as Miss 


MISS RATTLE 


51 


Rattle: but then, you never had to address her. She al- 
ways took the initiative — and kept it : she addressed 
you, and went on doing it. When Miss Rattle was in the 
neighbourhood she undertook whatever talking was neces- 
sary. 

How she did it is inexplicable, but she managed to 
call upon most of the Catholics in Ridingdale — some said 
once a week. Upon Mrs. Dominic she called much oftener. 
For the old Irishwoman was a very meek soul, and a very 
courteous one, and though Miss Rattle was often a sore 
trial, the good stocking-knitter sat and listened — and suf- 
fered. 

I could never hear that Miss Rattle had anything to say 
that was worth hearing; indeed, for talking about nothing 
at immense length she might have taken a prize. Un- 
happily this was not the worst of it. Though she was 
an Englishwoman of some education, she invariably talked 
about persons. On the part of a kindly and discreet talker, 
this may sometimes be harmless enough : it is never without 
its dangers. Miss Rattle had excellent reasons for know- 
ing this. One or two houses were entirely closed to her. 

Miss Rattle was of course a person with grievances: 
there never was an idle, gossiping woman in this world 
who was not. One of these grievances was that Father 
Horbury would not call upon her. She knew the reason 
why, but she did not speak of it. Father Horbury was 
always kind enough, but, when necessary, he could speak 
very plainly. 


52 


MISS RATTLE 


“ The next time I call, madam,” he said to her on one 
occasion, you must not expect me to sit and listen to 
detraction.” 

Unfortunately, the next time his Reverence called she 
was fuller of scandal than ever. Father Horbury left 
her somewhat abruptly, and, until she fell ill, never entered 
her house again. 

There was a certain wariness in Miss Rattle — some 
would call it low cunning. She studied her listeners. To 
talk of certain people in certain houses was unsafe: ex- 
perience had taught her that. The reason of her being 
conducted to the door by Mr. and Mrs. Lethers and for- 
bidden ever to darken it again, was a remark she had let 
fall concerning Father Horbury. 

But poor old Mrs. Dominic was such a quiet body that 
with her Miss Rattle always felt peculiarly safe: in other 
words, she let herself go. It may be doubted if Mrs. Dom- 
inic took the trouble to listen, for there is a passive kind of 
hearing which is not listening. 

Only — one day the old Irishwoman did listen : Miss 
Rattle was at her best: which means her worst. Her 
theme was the Ridingdales — a dangerous subject if she 
had only reflected. But, then, if people like Miss Rattle 
reflected they would speedily mend their ways. 

It was some time before Mrs. Dominic saw the exact 
drift of Miss Rattle’s innuendos. All Lance’s friends — 
that is, nearly everybody in the parish — had heard of his 
visit to Miss Bessie, the poor old lady who was known to 


MISS RATTLE 


53 


many as the Witch. I have already told the story at some 
length, and need only say here that Lance had found Jack 
Barson too frightened to deliver his master’s grocery-bas- 
ket at the eccentric old lady’s house ; that when Barson said 
“ it was all very well to say she wasn’t a witch when you 
hadn’t got to go to her,” Lance promptly seized the basket 
and not only delivered it but went inside the house and 
engaged in a long chat with the poor old lady. Also, find- 
ing that somebody had killed Miss Bessie’s cat, Lance 
promised to get leave to take her another one, and of 
course he did not forget his promise. His first visit had 
been a consolation to her, and to himself something of an 
adventure ; for he admitted to his mother, and to her only, 
that he had been really afraid of the so-called Witch. He 
had very little spare time, but at the end of his second visit 
Miss Bessie pleaded so hard with him to come again that 
/he and George received permission to call every other week 
or so. Then a wonderful thing happened. The front door 
of Miss Bessie’s house, locked and double-bolted for per- 
haps forty years, was opened to receive them, and a fire 
was lighted in the best parlour! 

All this news was common property in Ridingdale, and 
everybody rejoiced and said that Master Lance had such a 
way with him that he could even make mad people more 
or less sane. Everybody was pleased — except Miss 
Rattle. 

She had her grievance against Mrs. Ridingdale. Like 


54 


MISS RATTLE 


most other people who hated scandal and detraction, the 
Squire’s wife had ceased to visit Miss Rattle. 

“ Artful isn’t the word for it,” Miss Rattle was saying 
to Dominic’s wife. “We know of course that Squire Rid- 
ingdale is as poor as Job, but he needn’t be artful. The 
idea of letting those lads get round that old witch of a Miss 
Bessie! No doubt he thinks she’s rich, and it’s certain the 
old woman has got money stowed away somewhere. But 
just think of the artfulness of it all! I always did say that 
Master Lance was the most impudent lad that ever walked.” 

Miss Rattle ought to have seen the light flash in her 
listener’s eyes, but the gossip was too much occupied with 
her own speech. Moreover, having already said more than 
she had intended, she was getting reckless. 

“ People are making a great mystery over that robbery 
of Toxon’s plums,” she went on, “ but it’s no mystery to 
me. The Hall boys are as thick as anything with the 
Lethers’s, and you may be sure that if Tommie himself 
didn’t steal the fruit he knows very well who did. He 
was with Lance Ridingdale and his brothers that Flower 
Show afternoon, for I saw them together with my very 
own eyes, and who’s to know if one of them didn’t slip 
away from the Show ” 

“ Now may the Lord forgive ye your wickedness ! Oh 
ye bowld bad woman ! ” 

The knitting had fallen on the floor and Mrs. Dominic 
stood upright blazing with wrath. 


MISS RATTLE 55 

“ Eh, sure if it’s not yeself that is the bad lying wicked 
thaive o’ th’ characters o’ th’ Blissed Mother’s own chil- 
dren and the saintliest father and mother ye’ll find outside 
owld Ireland ! ” 

But this was only the exordium to a harangue the like of 
which Miss Rattle had never listened to before. True 
eloquence had the good old Celtic woman, meek and sad- 
eyed as she always seemed to be. She took the floor and 
kept it. It may be said that she also kept the door, for she 
placed herself between it and Miss Rattle’s chair. Without 
a pause Mrs. Dominic denounced the calumnies she had so 
unwillingly listened to ; without a pause she poured a steady 
flood of invective upon the head of her now thoroughly 
frightened visitor. Higher and higher rose Mrs. Dominic’s 
voice, so high indeed that she was quite unconscious of a 
sudden heavy downpour of rain, quite oblivious of the fact 
that somebody was knocking again and again at her outer 
door. 

Suddenly she stopped. Somebody had entered the room. 
Turning round hastily, Mrs. Dominic saw the Squire! 

Miss Rattle screamed. 

“ Pray pardon me,” began the Squire removing his 
dripping hat. Mrs. Ridingdale asked me to call for her 
here. I suppose she is detained in town by the rain. But 
I won’t intrude upon you just now,” he added, making a 
bow to Miss Rattle. 

'' Now the Lord be praised ! yer honour has been led here 
by the angels that never leave ye. Sure, sor, you’ve come 


56 


MISS RATTLE 


under my roof at the very right moment to tear the lies from 
the throat o’ this false, foul-mouthed, wicked woman! 
Now, madam! ” tragically exclaimed the old lady, “ say to 
the face o’ this noble and honourable gintleman what ye said 
to meself just now behind his back! Say it, ivery 
wor-r-rd ! ” 

But Miss Rattle had fainted. The Squire thought so, at 
any rate, and suggested water. Mrs. Dominic brought 
water — lots of it! Miss Rattle got more water than she 
cared for. She told somebody afterwards that never until 
that afternoon had she known the meaning of the saying 
— “ Between the devil and the deep sea.” 

She did not wait for the coming of Mrs. Ridingdale. 
Deluged with water. Miss Rattle made a rush for the door, 
and passed out into more water — in the shape of pouring 
rain. 

All might have been well perhaps if the Rattle could 
have held her tongue : whether she could or not, it is certain 
that she did not. Greatly humiliated, she of course con- 
sidered herself much injured, and sought for consolation by 
giving to a bosom friend, under promise of everlasting 
secrecy, her version of what had happened at Dominic’s 
cottage. The bosom friend being a bird of the same fea- 
ther as Miss Rattle, at once proceeded to confide the story 
to an entire circle of bosom friends as a secret of the first 
order. Long before the fall of the autumn night that se- 
cret was common property. It had reached even the Rid- 


MISS RATTLE 


57 


ingdale errand-lads. The fact accounts for what happened 
after dark outside Miss Rattle’s cottage. 

Like Shakespeare’s famous weaver, she had “ a reason- 
able good ear in music : ” unlike him, she had not said, 
“ Let us have the tongs and the bones.” She had them, 
all the sarne, together with a variety of instruments never 
to be seen or heard in any properly-constructed band. Per- 
haps no lady was ever serenaded with rougher music. The 
minstrels were young and strong, and they made a noise as 
though they loved it. With the exception of one or two 
boys of the elementary school — Dicky Kikerton and Jim 
Walker being prominent — they were all working lads. 
Their two leaders seemed to be Jack Barson and Fred 
Cook. 

It was fortunate that Miss Rattle’s cottage stood alone: 
no very near neighbours were disturbed by the banging of 
old tin trays, the rattle of bones, the beating of pots and 
pans, the clashing of pokers and tongs, the screeching of 
inferior whistles, and the persistent blowing of a cow-horn. 
The Rattle herself was greatly alarmed, and by the back 
door sent her maid out for the police. Neither Sergeant 
Murphy nor his assistant could be found — by the maid. 
As a matter of fact they were both in the very near neigh- 
bourhood of the music, greatly enjoying it, but ready at any 
moment to interfere if the lads showed the smallest dis- 
position to do more than make a noise. 

Happily, this making of rough music was all they wanted 


58 


MISS RATTLE 


to do. They had held an indignation meeting before tun- 
ing up, and it is a thousand pities that no reporter was pres- 
ent. I am told that Jack Barson’s speech was wonderful, 
and that when Fred Cook called for “ three groans for t’ 
woman what tells abominable lies about t’ Squire and t’ 
young gentlemen,” they might have been heard at the Hall 
itself. 

But Jack and Fred kept their men well in hand. 

'' ril punch any chap what flings a stoan, or kicks at t’ 
dooer,” said Fred. “ We wunna do f least bit o’ damage. 
We dunna want to ’urt nobody nor nowt. We only want 
this woman to know that if her wants to tell confounded 
lies about our Squire and his lads, her’ll have to goo outside 
t’ Dale.” 

How long they meant to keep up their discordant music 
I do not know; but when they had been at it for an hour 
and a half. Father Horbury suddenly appeared on the scene. 
Failing to find the police, the servant-maid had gone to the 
Presbytery. The cacophony ceased, and the younger boys 
crept away into the darkness. 

“ That will do, lads,” said the priest quietly. “ Go home 
now, like good fellows. No, Fred, you need not explain ” 
— Cook had stepped forward, cap in hand, anxious to say 
something — “I know all about it. I quite understand 
your feelings. Good-night, lads ! I’m making a call 
here.” 

With a chorus of “ Good-night, Feyther,” the lads with- 
drew ; but the priest had scarcely passed into Miss Rattle’s 


MISS RATTLE 


59 


house when he heard a voice shout out : “ Three cheers for 

Feyther ’ Orbury ! ” 

What the priest had to say to Miss Rattle was said in the 
passage : he would not enter her sitting-room. What he did 
say, I have no idea : it took but a few seconds in the saying. 

What I do know is that on the following morning the 
departure of Miss Rattle for some unknown locality was 
the topic of conversation at many Ridingdale breakfast- 
tables. 






FATHER HORBURY’S 


STORY 



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FATHER HORBURY’S STORY. 


Father Horbury was a 
great encourager of the 
Bozv-Wow. In the bound 
volumes of that delightful 
MS. Magazine I find more 
than one contribution of 
his which I should like to 
borrow. However, as I 
have his permission to use 
as it first appeared. 

“ He’s a frightfully young fellow ! ” 

“ So much the better. Less chance of his being prosy.” 

I was at a preparatory school. The speakers were two 
of my school-fellows : the time was Sunday morning. The 
old entrance-hall was in a bustle, and a little quiet hat- 
bashing seemed inevitable. Having brushed the silk into 
a due degree of Sunday shininess, several fellows were 
walking about with their head-gear well tucked under their 
arms. Only when they got into the street would they 
venture to put on the sacred topper. Alas! that tucking 
under the arm meant the subsequent discovery of something 
that looked more like a cylindrical door-mat than a Chris- 

63 



the following, I give it just 


64 


FATHER HORBURrS STORY 


tian head-covering — when the too-too cautious youths 
found themselves well in the open and far beyond the reach 
of a hat-brush. Still, when a boy sees himself in a difficulty 
of that sort, it is wonderful what can be effected with the 
help of a coat-sleeve. 

“ Next time they shall bash it, and welcome,” said my 
companion, for we were walking in pairs. “ Did you ever 
see such a beastly mess ? ” 

I am bound to admit that his hat bore a close resemblance 
to a lady’s muff. 

I replied that I had seen that kind of mess before. So, 
in fact, had he. Only the previous Sunday both of us had 
spent the first five minutes of the walk to church in coat- 
sleeving our respective hats. 

It’s one of my father’s boasts that he hasn’t worn a high 
hat for twenty years : yet he insists upon my wearing one 
both at home and at school.” 

“ It’s the way of the parental world,” I said. A fel- 
low’s mother makes a point of this sort of thing, and of 
course the dad gives way.” 

My friend whistled a bar of the popular song of that day, 

There’s a good time coming ” — whistled it very softly, 
for it was Sunday. But there came a look of determination 
over his face, determination so largely dashed with con- 
tempt as he glanced at the now partially brushed hat and 
crushed it upon his head, that a seller of toppers might have 
considered himself personally aggrieved. 

I so fully shared in my friend’s hatred of the ugly incon- 


FATHER HORBURY’S STORY 


65 


veniences under which we were staggering, that there was 
no room for discussion on the subject; besides, I wanted an 
explanation of the scrap of talk with which I began this 
story. 

“ Who’s the ‘ frightfully young fellow ’ Timms was talk- 
ing about just now? ” I asked. 

‘‘ The new parson, of course,” he replied. 

“ Why, what’s become of the Vicar ? ” 

Scarborough for a parson’s fortnight. Goes every 
year, doesn’t he ? ” 

“ To be sure,” I said, every September quite regularly.” 

‘‘ Yes,” said my companion, “ and I think it’s jolly mean 
of him not to give us the benefit of his absence for three 
Sundays, instead of one.” 

I assented. Not that we disliked our Vicar, but that we 
thought a change of parson ” as good for ourselves as was 
the “ change of air ” for him. 

“ It’s just the same with Pickier. [Pickier was the Head 
Master.] If ever he goes away in the morning he’s sure 
to turn up again at some uncomfortable hour in the early 
evening, instead of stopping away for an occasional night. 
We should love him all the better,” my companion went on, 
'' if we didn’t see quite so much of him.” 

I agreed heartily, but begged my friend to tell me all he 
knew of the young locum tenens. 

“Didn’t you see him on Friday afternoon? Pickier 
brought him into the playground after five. Where could 
you have been? O, yes, I remember: it was the day you 


66 


FATHER HORBURY’S STORY 


went up to Pickler’s room, and didn’t come back. By the 

way, I forgot to ask you ” 

“ Don’t be brutal ! ” I exclaimed, with a shiver ; don’t 
you be brutal if Pickier was. Tell us all about — what did 
you say his name was?” 

“ Didn’t hear any name, but they say he’s the old Vicar’s 
nephew. Only just ordained, I fancy. Looks as if he ate 
a parched pea every third day. Must be a Puseyite, you 
know.” 

Why so? ” I asked. Few of us, at that time, had ever 
seen a live Puseyite. 

“ ’Cause Thackeray says they’re all clean-shaved, and 
never eat anything but parched peas.” 

And this fellow ? ” I inquired. 

“ Hasn’t a whisker to bless himself with. Face as smooth 
as yours or mine. And, by Jove, doesn't he look hungry! ” 
It seemed conclusive enough. Thackeray was our idol 
at that time. One chapter of Thackeray was more to us 
than all the sermons in Christendom. Dickens was run- 
ning him rather hard, of course. The little green-covered 
volumes were coming out regularly; and I am afraid onr 
gospel was that according to Thackeray and Dickens. We 
heard two sermons every week, and at one particular time of 
the year — three. But the little green-covered books were 
with us day by day: not unfrequently night by night. 
They became part of our very life. 

Will he wear a red surplice do you think? ” 

I asked the question in perfect good faith. Not one of 


FATHER HORBURY’S STORY 


67 


US had ever seen a chasuble, but we had heard vague ru- 
mours of clergymen wearing red, yellow, and green vest- 
ments, and our only notion of ecclesiastical robes was con- 
fined to the black preaching gown, the surplice and hood. 
Our Vicar did not even wear a stole. A little later, an as- 
sistant master succeeded in imbuing some of us with a taste 
for ecclesiology and antiquarianism generally; but this pe- 
riod of brass-rubbing, and consequent consumption of heel- 
ball, had not arrived. 

My friend was dubious in regard to the red surplice. He 
was, indeed, inclined to be sceptical as to the possible use 
of such things in a Protestant church. Poor old fellow ! 
he himself has been wearing coloured vestments in an An- 
glican church for many years, in spite of frequent threats of 
prosecution. 

“ He couldn’t try that sort of thing on here,” said my 
school-fellow, after I had quoted some passages from The 
Newcomes to convince him that such vestments were worn. 
We were now almost in the church porch, but as we passed 
into the south aisle I whispered : 

“ He’ll do more than ‘ try it on ’ — he’ll wear it, if ” — I 
added as a saving clause — “ if he has brought it with him.” 

But he hadn’t. 

As, however, the young parson passed into the second 
tier of the ‘‘ three-decker,” I heard a whispered exclamation 
from my friend — ‘‘ Jingo ! he’s got it on ! ” 

Both of us craned our necks to look. It was only the 
red and black hood of the Oxford Master of Arts. Still, 


68 


FATHER HORBURY’S STORY 


even that was a change. Our Vicar was a Cambridge man ; 
his hood was only black and white. 

Oxford ! ” I whispered to my friend. 

Then he’s sure to be a Puseyite,” the boy returned, 
opening his prayer-book at the “ Form of prayer for the use 
of those at Sea” 

Both of us rose to our feet a little later than the rest, for 
the Service had begun. And as the parson bade us “ ac- 
knowledge our manifold sins and wickedness,” I blushed 
guiltily, thinking how truly manifold mine were. 

Sunday was not a lively day with us, except by accident. 
On Sundays we played no games of any kind : that is to say, 
we were not. supposed to do so. Dickens and Thackeray 
were put away and locked up : at least they were supposed to 
be. Consequently, Sunday was spent in a round of forbid- 
den pleasures, of which smoking was not the least; for 
there were no studies, other than the learning by heart of 
catechism and collect. 

By Sunday evening, therefore, susceptible lads were wont 
to fall into a pensive condition, half dreamy and half melan- 
choly. By the end of Evening Prayer, and by the time the 
preacher mounted the pulpit, such boys were in no mood for 
listening to the sermon. 

Now there had been nothing extraordinary in the young 
clergyman’s manner of conducting the Service; nothing to 
give colour to the notion that he was a Puseyite ; excepting 
perhaps the pace at which he read the prayers and lessons, 


FATHER HORBURrS STORY 


6g 


and an allusion to Christopher Columbus in the morning- 
sermon. But one boy who declared that his sister was 
married to a Puseyite curate and who in consequence 
claimed a perfect understanding of “ the whole box of 
tricks,” as he put it, maintained that “ Puseyites always took 
the Service at a hand-gallop, and that they worshipped Saint 
Christopher Columbus like fun/* 

I then ventured, very mildly, to question the canonization 
of the discoverer of the New World, and the dispute went 
on something like this : 

“ Do you mean to say that Columbus wasn’t a Roman 
Catholic?” 

Of course I admitted that he was a Catholic. 

“ Are you going to deny that his name was mentioned in 
this morning’s sermon?” 

I couldn’t deny it. 

“ Very well then,” said my opponent triumphantly, 
“ can’t you see that if he was a Catholic, and if his name 
was mentioned in the^ pulpit by a Puseyite parson — why he 
must be a saint ! ” 

I couldn’t see it, and said so. But public feeling was 
against me. Still, I would have another try. 

“ \yill you swear,” I asked very solemnly, “ that the 
preacher said St. Christopher Columbus ? ” 

The unblushing youth said he would. Several others 
also, were quite positive about it; but the majority wavered. 
I saw my chance at once. 

“ Now,” said I, “ what proof have you that the man who 


70 


FATHER HORBURY^S STORY 


discovered America and St. Christopher were not two totally 
different men ? ” 

I thought he would be crushed : but he wasn’t. 

“ Look here ! ” he said, casting a glance over the group 
of listening lads, “ ought a fellow whose sister married a 
Puseyite curate, to know all about these sort of things — 
or ought he not? ” 

The wind of popular feeling veered round immediately. 
Everybody saw at once how vastly superior must be the 
information of a fellow whose sister, etc., etc. 

My adversary fixed his eye upon me, and prepared to 
poise the weapon of incontrovertible fact. 

In my sister’s husband’s study hangs a picture,” — he 
was so pleased with this sentence that he repeated it. Then 
he went on, rather lamely I thought — “ It hangs over the 
mantel-piece. It shows a man, an awfully tall man, wading 
through the sea with a young apple-tree in his hand. He’s 
a long way ahead of his ship — in fact you don’t see the 
ship at all — it’s left out of the picture. He zmnts to be the 
first on shore. And he’ll plant that young apple-tree to 
show that he’s taken possession of the country.” 

He paused for a moment, and a low murmur of convic- 
tion rose from the group of lads who had listened with in- 
tense interest to every word. 

'' Well,” he said, raising his voice a little for the perora- 
tion, "" my sister’s husband told me that that zvas a picture of 
Saint Christopher Columbus.” 

There was a shout of applause. Every lad present, ex- 


FATHER HORBURY^S STORY 


71 


cept myself, was convinced. I was, so to say, “ done for.” 
The Reverend the husband of the sister had carried the day. 

'' You’d better give in, old man,” said my chum of the 
morning, taking me aside. “ Jerker evidently knows all 
about it.” 

“ But, my dear fellow,” I objected, getting a light on the 
subject as I spoke, “ I’ve got a Life of Columbus at home, 
and Tm positive that he’s never once spoken of as Saint 
Christopher Columbus.” 

“ O, there’s one in the school library for that matter,” he 
answered; “but, you know, authors often drop the St. in 
writing of these chaps. Even in our bibles — some of them 
at any rate, you see Matthezv, Mark, Luke and John.'' 

It was very true; but I could not get over the feeling 
that Jerker was in error, and said so. 

“ O, come now,” said my chum appealingly, “ have you 
got a sister married to a Puseyite parson? ” 

“ No, I’ve not,” I exclaimed indignantly, “ and I’ll take 
jolly good care my sister never does marry a man that wor- 
ships Christopher Columbus.” 

“ By Jove! ” returned my friend, “ Pd forgotten that part 
of the business. It’s rank idolatry, of course.” 

“ Course it is,” I replied, “ and if this young parson is a 
Puseyite ” 

“ Which he certainly is, you know,” put in my chum. 

“ Then,” said I, every drop of my Protestant blood boil- 
ing over at the thought, “ we ought not to go to church this 
evening; that’s clear! ” 


72 


FATHER HORBURY'S STORY. 


In less than five minutes the playground was in an up- 
roar. My friend had caught fire in a moment, and the 
way he went to work to organize an Indignation Meeting, 
was worthy of a local secretary of the Church Association. 
Jerker (the boy whose sister, etc., etc.) was missing! 
Somebody had said that in consequence of the etc., etc., there 
was idolatry in the Jerker family : that being so, there must 
be some of it in Jerker himself. At any rate, they would 
take it out of Jerker. Jerker must be saved from the con- 
sequences of the etc., etc., at any cost. 

But, at that moment, Jerker was doing his best to save 
himself by barricading the box-room doors — on the in- 
side. 

The siege began immediately. Ultimately the box-room 
was taken by assault. The result was much damage to 
property, and not a little hurt to persons. 

For the latter, further hurt was in store. Five of us did 
not go to Evening Service. Mr. Pickler’s Sunday floggings 
were always memorable: on this occasion he excelled him- 
self. Before the bells had ceased chiming for church, five 
smarting boys were lying in five supperless beds. As the 
reputed ringleader, I received extra — shall I say murks f 


THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS 





THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS. 

The Colonel’s nephews were a joke at Ridingdale Hall. As 
Lance said, “ they were more than you ever had time to 
count, and the best of it was that they were not really 
nephews, but only the sons of nephews.” Fortunately, the 
Colonel would rarely entertain more than one at a time. 

75 



76 


THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS 


Some, indeed, came, remained a few days, and went away — 
never to reappear. For not all of them were acceptable 
either to their uncle or to the boys of Ridingdale Hall, and 
one or two visits had ended in notable and lamentable 
ructions with the Colonel. 

Two, and two only, of these grand-nephews had been 
formally offered the Freedom of Sniggery; though this is 
not to say that only two of these occasional visitors to the 
Chantry — and therefore to the Hall — were worthy. But 
the Freedom of Sniggery was an honour not lightly be- 
stowed. Before you could boast of that dignity, you had to 
be a credit to yourself and to your upbringing. It was not 
quite enough that you were “ a dencentish sort of a chap; ” 
it was demanded of you that you be a downright good fel- 
low. 

Even this quality did not secure your immediate election. 
You had to be proposed and seconded and voted for. More- 
over — and this was the test of tests — you were not even 
accepted as a candidate until you had passed a certain pre- 
liminary examination. Considerately enough, an adult was 
exempted from the ordeal; but no boy under twenty-one 
could be more than a tolerated guest in Sniggery who had 
not passed his matriculation. 

Now, it is a sad fact that only two of the Colonel’s 
nephews had ever succeeded in satisfying the examiners. 
Doubtless they had given some kind of satisfaction to other 
examiners, for they were school-boys each and all, and their 
ages ranged from eleven to nineteen ; with the exception of 


THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS 


77 


a rather weakly boy who was taught by a private tutor, they 
were all at one or the other of the big public schools. It 
may, of course, be urged that the examination-papers were 
not on the usual lines, and that occasionally they were drawn 
up with a view of excluding from Sniggery all but excep- 
tional boys. 

Ridingdale Hall was one of those places where books 
were not only talked about, but read: I may add, re-read. 
They were not merely found in every room of the house, but 
on every window-seat and sofa and table. In the big draw- 
ing-room there were two of those old transomed and mul- 
lioned windows with deep recesses and broad sills, and on 
the cushioned seats that ran round their alcoves you would 
always find the books of the day — if they were worthy 
ones. In the small drawing-room beyond, Mrs. Ridingdale’s 
own apartment, you would discover a very select little li- 
brary, largely made up of devotional works and those quasi- 
classics that at certain moments are more acceptable to the 
weary than the Hundred Best Books. In the Squire’s own 
writing-room were not merely the hundred, but the thou- 
sand-and-one standard works of every age. 

\Miat impressed a youthful visitor so much was that in 
an apartment like the one known as Arts-and-Crafts — a big 
play-room really, where the boys might make any reasonable 
kind of mess, and where something was always being de- 
signed or executed — there was a collection of volumes the 
very titles of which delighted a genuine book-lover. 

If opportunity makes the thief,” Mr. Ridingdale said. 


78 


THE COLONEUS NEPHEWS 


“ why should not another kind of opportunity make the 
reader? No boy who knows his Scott and Dickens will 
ever care very much for mere trash. Having chosen the 
noblest, all meaner choice, as the poet says, is poisoned for 
evermore.” 

Under any circumstances, Arts-and-Crafts was a delight- 
ful room. One of the biggest in the house, it was given over 
entirely to the boys — I mean, of course, the Snigs, for the 
little ones were not encouraged there — and was by them 
put to a variety of uses. It was studio, workshop, green- 
room, and play-room. You could not go into it on any holi- 
day without seeing a boy painting at his easel, or hammering 
at his bench, or turning his lathe, or doing some kind of 
carving or fretwork. It had been furnished almost entirely 
by its occupiers, and though it had but one real chair, it 
could boast of many seats — low seats, chiefly of the order 
of the transformed box. Indeed, many of these extempor- 
ized lounges were only packing-cases covered with odd bits 
of drapery, but they made a brave, if rather motley appear- 
ance, and being low and usually placed against the wall, were 
by no means uncomfortable to sit upon. The floor was of 
solid oak and, of course, uncarpeted, and though unmistaka- 
ble marks of clog-irons could be seen here and there, and 
evidences of spilled chemicals and paint, all things consid- 
ered, it was kept fairly free from dirt. 

But it is certain that the presence of abundant books 
added greatly to the delightfulness of Arts-and-Crafts. On 
the home-made shelves could be found not only complete 


THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS 


79 


sets of the leading English writers but a good long row of 
books of reference, whose pages frequently settled a disputed 
point or solved a practical difficulty. An encyclopaedia of 
venerable appearance was not unfrequently consulted and 
found of great value; though the erudite George sometimes 
refused to accept its information until he had consulted a 
newer edition in his father’s study. An exceptionally tat- 
tered book now and then disappeared, and the Squire one 
day told the Colonel that no edition of White's Selborne 
or of Tom Brozvn's Schooldays could be made to last the 
boys more than six months. This remark led to a delight- 
ful arrangement proposed by the Colonel — and indeed set- 
tled by him in a thoroughly practical manner. For though 
this good martinet affected to be very scornful of Arts-and- 
Crafts, and the articles made therein, he was really much 
interested in it and everything connected with it. 

The accidental picking-up of a volume of Shakespeare 
that lay open on Lance’s work-board led up to this proposal, 
for no sooner had the Colonel taken the book into his hand 
than it fell to the floor in hundreds of loose leaves. As 
Lance laughingly collected the scattered pages, he explained 
that this particular copy was not meant to be handled, but 
only to lie open on a table. So then and there the Colonel 
suggested that each boy should make for himself a little 
book-case, and put it near the place where he worked. 
Every fellow, he said, ought to have his own. copy of 
Shakespeare, and he, the Colonel, would lay the foundation 
of these miniature libraries by giving each lad a complete 


8o 


THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS 


edition of this great poet. In his characteristically teasing 
way he added that Lance in his strongest clogs must have 
kicked the old copy up and down the room; an accusation 
that brought indignant denial from Lance — who, however, 
soon perceived that the Colonel was in a mood that he in- 
tended to be jocular. 

Book-binding itself was practised on a small scale, and 
particularly upon well-thumbed and broken-backed volumes 
that eventually found their way to Sniggery. For though 
no books were permitted to lie there from September to 
April, during the warmer months of the year you could al- 
ways find on its table a volume of Tennyson — an immense 
favourite with all the boys — a copy of Ivanhoe or Wood- 
stock, of Pickivick or David Copperdeld, and the inevitable 
Shakespeare. For here again, as the Squire well knew, op- 
portunity made the reader. He did not drive horses to the 
water and try to force them to drink, but he took care that 
wherever his boys found themselves good books should 
abound. 

Occupiers of Arts-and-Crafts breathed more freely — no 
mere figurative expression — when Hilary was no longer 
permitted to make chemical experiments within its walls. 
For a time these experiments were very popular; eventually, 
however, they were found to interfere so seriously with the 
various artistic works carried on by the rest — to say noth- 
ing of tl^ smells, and an explosion or two that might have 
damaged the experimenter and his audience for life — that a 


THE COLONEL'S NEPHEWS 


8i 


separate small room was given over to the budding chemist, 
and Hilary’s laboratory became a domestic institution. 

Perhaps with the exception of Hilary who, though fond 
of a certain sort of reading, did not take kindly to literature 
as such, no four boys in Shakespeare-land, as England has 
been called, were more familiar with our great author’s 
tragedies, comedies, and histories, than Harry and George, 
Willie and Lance. It is true that Harry was more at home 
with the comedies than the tragedies, and that Lance showed 
a particular affection for the histories, though he loved the 
Midsummer Nighfs Dream, The Tempest, and parts of 
C'ymbeline. But both George and Willie Murrington may 
be said to have possessed their Shakespeare — as for exam- 
ple, German boys possess him ; though the former had vastly 
keener enjoyment of both matter and manner than any Ger- 
man lad could ever experience. 

They knew their Shakespeare, and many another English 
author, as they knew the corridors and rooms of their own 
home, the glens and glades of their own park, the intricacies 
of the wood and the windings of the river. With a sugges- 
tion from father here, and a recommendation from mother 
there ; with a little encouragement from tutor or master, and 
always the right books lying handy at the right time and in 
the convenient place, they had almost unconsciously acquired 
a treasure of knowledge of the classics of their country. A 
complete absence of merely sporting and ephemeral papers 
was a big help to them, for though they were second to none 
in their keenness for cricket and football, they were content 


82 


THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS 


to play the game and enjoy it, as gentlemen should, and to 
leave “ the latest intelligence ” to professionals. Father al- 
wa3^s gave them the cricket news at breakfast, and any other 
item from the Morning Nuisance (as he called every daily 
paper) that he thought might interest them. 

These things being so, it was not to be wondered at if 
they expected to find a like acquaintance with good litera- 
ture in every boy they met. In this matter they had their 
disappointments. From the village lads they did not look 
for a cultivated taste in art and letters; in boys of their own 
class they felt that they had a right to find it, particularly 
among those with whom, from time to time, they were ex- 
pected to be intimate ; and, for certain excellent reasons, they 
fully expected to meet with it in the Colonel’s nephews. 

To give anything like a complete history of the Colonel’s 
nephews would be to write a bigger book than the reader 
would care for. Besides, few of them were particularly 
notable; some of them were much too commonplace even 
to be described on a printed page. They were all well clad, 
mostly in faultless Etons; occasionally one of them would 
show good form in the cricket-field. Under their great- 
uncle’s roof they generally behaved fairly well. Some of 
them had a drawing-room manner, and another manner — 
one that was not quite so polite. Some had an acquaintance 
with the latest comic song and the newest burlesque — often 
written in ridicule of a classic that literary men and scholars 
hold dear, and almost sacred. Some of them were accom- 
plished smokers and proficient tipsters, and as Lance and 


THE COLONEL’S NEPHEWS 83 

his brothers sometimes found to their sorrow, if you could 
not talk about the music-hall and the very latest race news, 
the visitors were undisguisedly bored. During the long 
summer holiday, which was the time they usually came to 
the Chantry, the Ridingdale boys racked their brains to find 
means of entertaining these young people — so quickly tired 
of tennis and cricket, and who took no pains to disguise their 
scorn of the two tubs, St. Nicholas and St. Stanislaus, which 
Hilary and his brothers regarded as boats. 

Happily the Colonel came to the rescue now and then 
with a big picnic, or a garden-party, or a driving expedi- 
tion, and in the presence of their soldier-uncle the visitors 
were less objectionable. 

But it must be remembered that we are speaking now of 
a period of time ranging over some five or six years, and 
of a succession of young visitors to the Chantry, some of 
whom came for only a few days and never repeated their 
visit. Happily, too, there were three or four who were al- 
ways acceptable, and with whom the Squire’s boys were on 
the most affectionate terms. 











THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


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THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 


We know something of the character and 
disposition of Lance Ridingdale at the 
age of thirteen and fourteen; need I say 
that in his earlier years he was very much 
the same as the boy I have so often de- 
scribed — only more so. At the time of 
the coming of Arthur, Lance was eleven. 

And if I dwell a little upon the manner of 
their introduction, and the details of their 
first meeting, it is not that I take pleasure 
or pride in the conduct of either boy, or 
that I approve of their methods. 

Arthur Leighson was paying his first 
visit to his uncle, and therefore to Rid- 
ingdale Hall. Having arrived at the 
Chantry only the night before, the Colonel proposed to his 
nephew an after-luncheon walk to the Hall. Meeting Dr. 
Nuttlebig on the road, the old soldier stopped to chat, tell- 
ing Arthur to walk straight on towards the Hall, and that 
he would catch him up. But a chat between the doctor and 
the Colonel always meant an argument of some kind, and 
Arthur arrived at the park long before his uncle. 

Turning in at the big oaken gates, Arthur soon saw at 

87 



88 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


some distance off the carriage-drive a number of lads of 
different ages, chopping wood, and careering about a fallen 
elm with axes and hatchets. Making his way up to them, 
the stranger addressed himself to Lance, who was working 
at some distance from his brothers. 

I say, kid ! whose shanty is this ? 

Lance dropped his small axe and stared at the new-comer 
without speaking. 

Why don’t you answer my question, kiddy? ” said Ar- 
thur, eyeing Lance’s blouse and clogs. “ I ’spose your 
head’s about as wooden as your boots.” 

‘‘ Who are you calling kid ? ” demanded Lance, stepping 
right up to the new-comer. 

You, of course.” 

“How old are you?” Lance asked — I am afraid with 
some scorn. 

“ Old enough to lick your head off, you little cad,” was 
the polite retort. 

Lance put his fists in the pockets of his knickerbockers, 
partly because his hands were not very clean, partly to keep 
them out of temptation. Wood-hauling and chopping were 
going on with such vigour that Hilary, Harry, and George 
scarcely noticed the coming of Arthur. 

“ Don’t think my head ’ll come off in a hurry,” Lance 
remarked with a smile, as he examined the trousered and 
Eton-jacketed boy from his tall hat to his patent-leather 
shoes : “ wasn’t put on loose, you know. Like to have a 
try?” 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


89 


Almost unconsciously, as he spoke, he stepped a little 
nearer to the stranger. Arthur’s temptation was great, and 
he did not resist it. With his open hand he struck Lance 
a sounding blow on the cheek. Four white marks lay on 
the right side of Lance’s plump and rosy face. His smile 
had quite vanished, and his eyes blazed. 

“ Better hang your hat up somewhere,” he remarked 
with a deadly sort of calmness that made Arthur’s pasty 
cheek turn yellow ; “ we’ll find a dry place somewhere for 
your jacket.” 

Lance was already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and 
blouse, for he had no jacket under the latter. In a sort of 
frightened silence Arthur removed hat and coat. 

“ Let’s get where the ground’s quite level : there ! behind 
that big oak. And look here! if you’re the younger, you 
shall have your back to the sun. How old are you ? ” 

Just turned eleven,” muttered Arthur, upon whom a 
most unpleasant suspicion was beginning to dawn that he 
was not only going to be severely pummelled, but that his 
antagonist was a son of the house he was about to visit. It 
seemed to him quite too late for explanations. 

Well, I’ve only just turned eleven,” Lance said, “ but 
it’s all right. I’ll face the sun.” 

As a matter of fact each of them in turn had the after- 
noon sun in his eyes, for the preliminary dance round lasted 
for sometime. 

Lance knew that he had an easy victory, but he wanted 
to see what his enemy was made of. Round and round 


90 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


they went in a sort of irregular circle, Arthur now and again 
hitting out with a sort of despairing fury, Lance easily par- 
rying the blows and trying to make up his mind where it 
would be safest to smite this unmuscular and unscientific 
young person. Indeed, if Lance had not been so exasperated 
by Arthur’s preliminary assault, he would have been inclined 
to pity him for his thin, stick-like arms and general appear- 
ance of unfitness for handling anything heavier than a tea- 
cup or a battledore. 

Don’t be in a hurry,” said Lance, as at the first real 
blow Arthur toppled over, only say when you’re ready.” 

But the foe was in a hurry, and closed with Lance so 
sharply and suddenly that the latter’s chief anxiety became 
how to avoid setting his clogged foot upon the other’s dainty 
shoe. Making a passionate rush upon Lance’s fist, Arthur 
realized that one of his teeth had been loosened and his lip 
cut. 

Better stop the bleeding,” Lance suggested ; but Arthur 
would stop for nothing — until for the second time he found 
himself lying on the grass. 

“ Let me get your handkerchief,” said Lance, running to 
fetch the enemy’s jacket. Don’t let the blood drop on your 
waistcoat.” 

Arthur took the proffered jacket and found his hand- 
kerchief. 

“ You must say, you know, when you want to shake 
hands,” Lance hazarded. “ Sorry we haven’t got a 
sponge.” 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


91 


“ Haven't done with you yet,” said Arthur, soon throwing 
away his few square inches of cambric and getting into 
position. Suddenly, however, he changed his tactics. He 
had seen wrestling — in a boy’s paper ; he had studied a 
certain “ fall ” — in theory. Springing cat-like upon Lance, 
he pinned his enemy’s arms to his side. 

But only for a moment. Though completely taken by 
surprise, Lance planted his sturdy feet well apart and wait- 
ed. Frantically Arthur tried by twisting his thin leg round 
Lance’s to pull him over. He might just as well have tried 
to uproot a young oak-tree. With a sudden jerk of his arms 
Lance freed himself, and, after lifting his enemy bodily into 
the air, laid him down slowly upon the grass. 

“ Had enough ? ” Lance laconically inquired. 

Think so,” was the answer. 

Well, you’ll shake hands, won’t you ? Sorry you’re 
damaged, but I didn’t force you to spar, did I ? ” 

“ That’s all right,” said Arthur, getting up and shaking 
hands. “ / struck the first blow : that’s a fact.” 

Hum ! did you now ? Thought so.” 

Both the boys turned with a start. It was the Colonel ! 
And Lance at once realized that he had assaulted a nephew. 

“Nice young man, aren’t you now?” the Colonel said, 
turning his grand-nephew round by the collar. “ Pretty 
mess you’re in too ! Thought a tea-fight the most exciting- 
combat you’d ever been in. Up to this, I ’spose it was.” 

Though Lance was not a little concerned, and had a 
vision of himself spending the rest of the day in handcuffs or 


92 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


leg-irons, or both, he could not help smiling. Nay, ventur- 
ing to take one quick glance at the Colonel’s face, it seemed 
as if something very like a smile was hovering beneath the 
good man’s moustache. But the Colonel saw the glance, 
and not only immediately straightened his features but turn- 
ed upon Lance with severity. 

“ Yes, and you, sir! Nice way of introducing yourself to 
a perfect stranger — and my nephew — isn’t it ? What 
about the laws of hospitality and — and all that sort of 
thing?” 

“ I hit him first, you know, uncle,” interposed Arthur, 
putting on his jacket. '‘Of course, I didn’t know who he 
was. You see, I insulted him before I hit him. I thought 
he was a — I mean — well, I didn’t think ” 

“ Don’t stand chattering there,” the Colonel interrupted 
as his nephew began to flounder. “ What you want is a 
good wash.” 

“I’ll take him to Sarah, shall I, Colonel?” Lance sug- 
gested. 

“ That’s it. Off you run, both of you ! ” 

The Colonel sat in the Squire’s study, telling the story 
of the fight, and laughing heartily. Mr. Ridingdale looked 
grave. 

“ It is good of you to take it like that,” he was saying, 
“ but I am exceedingly sorry that Lance should so forget 
himself.” 

“ But really, Jack, it’s the best thing that could possibly 
have happened to that young suburban whipper-snapper. 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


93 


It’s not his fault altogether, but he really is a conceited little 
ass. He’s fatherless, as you know, and his mother is a 
right-down fool. My poor nephew married beneath him, 
and the silly woman is as full of pretentions as an egg is full 
of meat. She has already taken the lad away from half a 
dozen preparatory schools — either because they didn’t put 
his hair in curl-papers every night, or wouldn’t lace his boots 
for him, or some rot of that kind. The wonder is that he is 
endurable. She has done her level best to bring him up as a 
fop and a coward rolled into one. And he’s to be a soldier, 
forsooth! Good heavens! what is the army coming to? ” 

An hour or two later, George and Lance were sitting to- 
gether on the back of a garden seat in a quiet corner of 
the lawn, talking over the events of the afternoon. 

Though at this time George was not yet thirteen, he was 
quite the most thoughtful of Lance’s many brothers, and 
it was to George that one instinctively turned in all cases of 
doubt or perplexity. 

George himself was a little troubled. A fight was always 
a sad thing, and he blamed himself for not seeing that Lance 
had slipped away from the wood chopping. Of course if the 
two had begun to spar on the spot where Arthur had first 
spoken so insultingly to Lance, Hilary would instantly have 
interfered; but the combatants had not only moved away 
into a sort of hollow where the ground was flat, but had 
screened themselves from view by getting behind a leafy oak 
of considerable circumference. So busy were Hilary and 


94 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


the rest that only Harry saw the approach of Arthur 
Leighson ; but as he was some distance off the place where 
Lance was standing, Harry heard neither the discourteous 
greeting of the Colonel’s nephew, nor his brother’s retort. 
Here and now in the cool of the evening, clothed, as it 



were, and in a calm and equable frame of mind, Lance 
seemed inclined to discuss the matter from a moral point 
of view. A question trembled on his lips — a question that 
he did not like to put, but one that would naturally occur 
to any boy whose conscience was tender. He had already 
asked a great many other questions, and though George, 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


95 


like the honest fellow he was, had said quite plainly that he 
could not answer all of them, he had for the most part 
responded wisely and well. 

“ It’s very funny,” Lance was saying, “ how just after 
anything of this sort you feel awfully pleased with yourself 
— ’specially if you’ve licked the other chap — and then 
when you’ve cooled down you begin to wish it hadn’t hap- 
pened.” 

“ That’s very natural,” George said. ” Of course you 
had a lot of provocation. I fancy father would say that a 
thing like this oughtn’t to be taken too seriously — or too 
lightly.*” 

‘‘ I told Arthur how sorry I was, just as he was going 
away.” 

“ That’s all right. What did he say? ” 

“ Well,” laughed Lance, “ he put his finger to his lip to 
see if it was still bleeding, and said ‘ So am L’ ” 

George did not suppress a smile. 

“ You can see for yourself,” said the elder boy after a 
short pause, ‘‘ that one should have oneself better in hand 
than go fisticuffing with every fellow who happens to say 
something one doesn’t like.” 

“ ’Tis rather what the gutter-lads do — isn’t it? ” 

'' Very much so,” said George, and there’s precious 
little bravery in just losing one’s temper; though mind you, 
Lannie, in your circumstances I’m afraid — yes. I’m afraid 
I should have gone for him.” 

Don’t think you would, George. You remember those 


96 


THE COMING OF ARTHUR 


verses we all learnt in the nursery — called ‘ Heroes and 
Saints/ weren’t they? Well, you know, they came back to 
me to-day when I was fighting. Now if they’d come back 
to you, you’d have stopped. I’ll bet. You remember that 
verse — how does it go ? 

Fd like to be a brave boy, mama, 

And I would not mind for pain ; 

But if anybody gave me a blow, mama, 

Fd give it him back again. 

Now, George, I’m afraid that’s just me” 

But it needn’t be, old man.” 

Again silence fell upon the brothers. The shadows upon 
the lawn began to lengthen. Wood-pigeons cooed sooth- 
ingly. The south-west wind came laden with the breath of 
roses and mignonette. 

I say, George, do you think ” 

The question still trembled on Lance’s lips. 

“ Do I think — what, old man ? ” 

‘‘ Well, do you think it was a — I mean, ought I to go to 
confession to-night? ” 

“ Really, Lannie, I hardly know. I don’t think you’re 
bound. Better ask mother, or father.” 

Five minutes later Harry said to his mother, “ Wherever 
is Lannie pelting off to at this time o’ night? He nearly 
knocked me over as I came in.” 

“ Lannie has just run down to the Presbytery, dear,” said 
Mrs. Ridingdale. 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 








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THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR. 

To say that Arthur found life beneath his uncle’s roof slow 
and monotonous does not express the matter fully. 
Crowded with objects of art, the Chantry was an interesting 
house to explore, but being a house, and not a South Ken- 
sington Museum, it was soon exhausted. The Colonel’s 
library was a delight ; unfortunately Arthur read nothing, if 
he could help it, but the Boys' Ripper, Music was the old 

99 


LOFC, 


100 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 


soldier’s daily solace ; but the youngster said all indoor music 
made his head ache. The Colonel asked him if he could 
ride, and, though (like that of the man who did not play 
the fiddle) his reply was a cautious one, Arthur was so anx- 
ious to try that the pony was ordered round. When his 
uncle saw him put the wrong foot in the stirrup, the good 
man tried not to make any remark ; but when he noticed that 
the would-be rider was trembling in every limb, the Colonel 
foresaw an inquest — and said so. The pony went back to 
the stables. 

That day, luckily, Harry and George and Lance were 
coming to lunch at the Chantry, so Arthur tried to kill the 
morning by exploring the Ridingdale shops. He meant to 
do his best to impress upon Miss Rippell, upon Kelveston 
the confectioner, upon Colpington the chemist, and various 
other tradespeople, the fact of their exceeding inferiority, 
both as individuals and shopkeepers; but, blind as at that 
time he was to his own condition of conceited puppydom, he 
could not but own to himself afterwards that they one and 
all utterly refused to be impressed by a top-hatted young- 
ster with a Cockney accent and the manners of a music-hall 
call-boy. 

He started rather badly at Miss Rippell’s, and only her 
natural urbanity and serenity of temper prevented a down- 
right altercation. 

Look here ! I want the Boys' Ripper” he began, turning 
over various periodicals that lay on the counter. “ And be 
sharp, because I’m in a hurry.” 


THE REMAINING OP ARTHUR 


101 


Miss Rippell did not keep an assortment of smiles for 
different classes of customers: she had one unvarying ex- 
pression, and it was an exceedingly agreeable one. 

“That is a paper I don’t stock,” she replied pleasantly; 
“ but I have all the best boys’ papers,” she continued, turning 
over a pile of current periodicals. 

“ Oh, I don’t read dry rot of that sort,” he said con- 
temptuously; “I want the Ripper, Just you order it for 
me, and don’t forget ! ” 

Miss Rippell shook her head. “ No, I can’t do that — 
unless your uncle particularly wishes it,”' she said. “ I think 
you’re one of his little nephews, are you not? ” 

Arthur particularly objected to the adjective “ little ” as 
applied to himself; indeed, if Miss Rippell had chosen the 
word with a view of hurting the youngster — which she had 
not — she could not have made a better selection. 

“ Well, you just are a putrid lot of clodhoppers in this 
beastly hole,” he burst out. “ I’ll tell my uncle what I think 
about you when I get home.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested Miss Rippell with composure, “ you 
will be good enough to say that I shall have the greatest 
pleasure in getting anything for which he may send me a 
written order. Good morning ! ” 

With a muttered imprecation that she did not catch, the 
small Cockney swung himself out of the shop, his temper in 
very bad repair. 

A favourite idiom of William Lethers’ was that “ you 
couldn’t get no change out o’ Mester Colpington.” This did 


102 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 


not refer to money handed over the counter; it meant that 
James Colpington, chemist and druggist, High Street. Rid- 
ingdale, Yorks, was a man very well able to take care of 
himself. 

At this time there was no tobacconist’s shop in Riding- 
dale, and indeed when one was started people had become 
so used to getting their tobacco and snuff from the grocer’s, 
and their cigars and cigarettes from Colpington’s, that they 
mistrusted a man who sold the weed and nothing but the 
weed, and his little establishment failed. 

Stopping to look' at the chemist’s window, Arthur at 
once noticed some boxes of cigarettes. Now Arthur’s one 
accomplishment — an accomplishment he shared with gut- 
ter children and newspaper boys — was smoking. He 
told himself that what he needed at this time was a quiet 
smoke — in some quiet and secret place. Unsuccessfully 
he had tried to “ nick ” one of his uncle’s cigars : perhaps it 
was well for Arthur that the Colonel was careful not to 
leave such things lying about. Not every grown-up man 
was equal to a Ruggerson cigar. 

Pushing back Colpington’s swing-door, Arthur heard a 
bell ring in the distance. The shop was empty, and the boy 
took from his pocket a half-crown wherewith to hammer 
the counter. The church clock had just struck eleven, and 
if Arthur had been a native of Ridingdale he would have 
known quite well that on the first stroke of eleven Mr. 
Colpington always retired to his sitting-room to refresh 
himself with a glass of beer and a biscuit. But the number 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 


103 


of things that Arthur did not know was large, and one of 
them was that you might hammer Colpington’s counter into 
tooth-picks before that excellent man would leave his biscuit 
and beer to wait upon you : in matters of urgency you were 
expected to find your way to him. Not knowing these 
things, and many others, Arthur went on hammering vi- 
ciously, and using words that right-minded men and boys do 
not use. 

Perhaps three full minutes passed before Mr. Colpington 
appeared, looking aggravatingly pleased with himself, and 
in no sort of hurry whatever. 

“ Good-morning! ” he said cheerfully, but eyeing Arthur 
a little more keenly than that young gentleman appreciated; 
“ thought it was my lad come back from an errand, and 
hammering at that case of empties. What can I do for 
you, sir?’’ 

There were certain things that Mr. Colpington did not 
know; one of them was that his “sir” had been uttered 
just in time to prevent an explosion — or shall we say a 
splutter ? 

“ I want some cigarettes : a box. Best you’ve got.” 

Mr. Colpington swung round on his heel and hastened to 
open a drawer that was certainly not labelled tobacco. He 
may have wanted to hide a smile : who knows ? At any 
rate, he turned round again to the counter and began to 
scrape a pestle lying there in a huge mortar. 

There are two ways of absorbing conversation. One is 
to start at a rush and drown your opponent in a flood of 


104 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 


words. A second, and perhaps a more effective method, is 
to speak slowly, incisively, but continuously , and without 
giving the least opportunity of being interrupted. Of the 
latter method Mr. Colpington was perfect master. 

How’s the lip getting on? ” he began, leaning over the 
counter to get a nearer view of it — to Arthur’s intense 
disgust. “ Ah, I see it’s beginning to heal nicely. Well, 
that’s all right. Rather a tough customer to tackle, that 
Master Lance, isn’t he ? All muscle, from head to heel, eh ? 
Very hearty and healthy young gentlemen the Squire’s 
sons, aren’t they? Tooth not broken, is it? Glad of that. 
It’s not nice to get a front tooth broken. Spoils one’s 
beauty, doesn’t it? You must get the young Ridingdales 
to teach you to box. I don’t hold with fighting, of course : 
but it’s important to know how to use one’s fists. Eh? I 
beg your pardon : cigarettes, did you say ? ” — Arthur’s in- 
terruption had certainly been emphatic enough — Well, 
now ” — Colpington’s smile was delightful — it’s of 
course very nice of you to think of making your uncle a 
little present, but between me and you and this pestle and 
mortar ” — here the chemist dropped his voice and became 
quite confidential — “ Colonel Ruggerson never smokes 
cigarettes. In fact, he can’t bear the sight of them. You 
might just as well offer him a box of powders. The very 
sight of a cigarette makes him furious.” 

'' But I don’t want them for him,” Arthur managed to 
interpolate, almost in a shriek. 

“Oh, I see. You want to give them to the boys at the 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 


105 


Hall? ” Here Colpington became very serious indeed, and 
shook his head solemnly. “ Well, now, you take my advice 
— don’t ! There’s not one of them that smokes : they don’t 
want to. If they did, they wouldn’t be allowed; but they 
don’t. They’d only give them to their father — who, by 
the way, always smokes a pipe; and he might tell your 
uncle, and your uncle would be angry. You may not know 
it, but the Colonel can make himself uncommonly unpleas^ 
ant sometimes. He’s got very strong views about boy- 
smokers. Why, if he knew that I sold you a box of cigar- 
ettes, I should never hear the last of it. He’s in my shop 
most days ” 

Arthur did not wait for more. Partly in rage, and 
partly in fear of the sudden appearance of his uncle, the boy 
dashed through the swing-door as quickly as if the chemist 
had threatened his life. And a burst of laughter from 
Colpington followed him down the street. 

One fact had been so constantly impressed upon his 
mind by his mother, that Arthur may be said to have been 
possessed by it: it was that the only moneyed relative he 
had in the world was Colonel Ruggerson. Therefore, his 
mother had insisted, not to offend that gentleman was not 
merely Arthur’s duty but his one hope of inheriting a 
property that many other grand-nephews were anxious to 
share. Conscious that by his fight with Lance Ridingdale 
he had begun badly, and that the events of the morning 
had not precisely prejudiced the uncle in his favour, he was 
more than anxious to avoid anything that might unduly 


io6 . THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 

anger his relative. But the boy was furious with Colping- 
ton — who had really done him a very great service. It 
hurt his pride exceedingly to discover that the news of his 
being badly mauled by Lance had become common prop- 
erty ; but to have been made a fool of by “ a common shop- 
keeper,” as the insolent child would have called the good 
chemist, was unbearable. To say nothing of the time he 
had spent hammering at the counter, there he had stood for 
a good ten minutes merely to be chaffed, and to come away 
cigaretteless ! 

Consolation and confectionery are, to a boy, interchange- 
able terms: Arthur wanted all the consolation he could 
get, and for half-a-crown he hoped to get a good deal. 
Kelveston’s window was second to none in attractiveness, 
and, though at that moment no boy in the wide world 
could have been less hungry, Arthur marched into the shop 
and immediately attacked a pork-pie, hot from the oven. 
Kelveston and a plate appeared at the same moment. 

“ Mind the gravy, sir ! ” 

The confectioner was too late. Arthur was not accus- 
tomed to hot pork-pies, and had not given this one credit 
for holding gravy. Wherefore a big splash of fatty liquid 
fell upon the front of his Eton jacket. Kelveston ran to 
get a napkin, and the boy swore audibly. 

Now the chemist and the confectioner were very different 
men, and the difference chiefly consisted in the fact that 
Colpington always said what he thought and Kelveston did 
not — at any rate to a customer. Kelveston had, perhaps, 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 


107 


absorbed a little of the saccharine, not to say oily, character 
of his goods. In his heart he strongly disapproved of the 
use of strong language, but he would not say so to a boy 
who was already attacking his second pie, and whose eyes 
were fixed upon a plate of puffs. 

Kelveston called everybody “ sir,” or “ madam,” and 
spoke apologetically of the weather. Arthur had no inter- 
est at all in the weather; he was absorbed in considering if, 
after the demolition of the second pie, he would start upon 
the puffs or the open tarts. 

Making the circuit of the counter he came upon a dish of 
cheese-cakes — lemon. With one eye still upon the puff's 
— three-cornered, you know, and easily disposed of — he 
was benignant enough to assure Mr. Kelveston that the 
lemon cheese-cakes were “ no end good.” The confec- 
tioner did not blush, but his acknowledgment was modest 
and sweet. Finishing the fourth cheese-cake, Arthur 
helped himself to a puff. After that he had a. bottle of 
lemonade, and gave up keeping count of the various delica- 
cies that appealed to him, and not in vain. He told himself 
that it was the duty of the confectioner to keep count : it 
was a duty that Kelveston never missed. 

The church clock struck twelve, and remembering that 
the luncheon was at one o’clock Arthur concluded that per- 
haps for the present he had had enough. Kelveston was 
accuracy itself in reckoning up — doing it audibly and 
showing a great genius for mental arithmetic : to the con- 
sternation of Dr. Nuttlebig who, suddenly called to a case 


THE REMAINING OF ARTHUR 


io8 

out of town, had looked in to get a sandwich. Arthur did 
not know the doctor, and felt inclined to ask him “ What 
he was jolly well staring at? ” 

“ You don’t mean to say that that lad has just eaten all 
the stuff he’s paid for? ” the amazed doctor inquired, when 
Arthur had left the shop. 

“ Every bit of it, sir,” said Kelveston. 

Who is he?” 

One of the Colonel’s nephews, sir.” 

“ Thought so. Well, if I’m called in to-morrow, I shall 
know what’s the matter with him! ” 



THE COLONEL’S LUNCHEON 








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THE COLONEL’S LUNCHEON. 


Whenever he entertained, the 
Colonel was at his best. As the 
Ridingdale boys always said, not 
only were his luncheons ripping, 
but so was the host himself. He 
seemed always to get the very 
things the boys liked best. Lance 
called these entertainments 
birdy dinners ” — for to him and 
his brothers they counted as din- 
ners. Doubtless the good Col- 
onel carefully avoided providing 
anything that they were likely to 
get very often at home ; but it was 
wonderful how he contrived to 
make the solid part of the meal so 
delightfully hirdy. Then, too, 
he seemed to save up all his very 
best stories for these occasions: 

“ Real Rattlers, you know,^’ 

Lance said, '' and every one of them true ; all about the 
Mutiny and Indian things, snakes and tigers and Thugs, 
and chaps of that sort. And if you have heard some of 



- 7 ~^. 


Ill 


THE COLONEL’S LUNCHEON 


1 12 

them before — well, if a tale is really good, you like to have 
it again. In fact, sometimes the Colonel remembers bits 
that he forgot all about when he told us the tale the first 
time.” 

On this particular day, when the boys arrived at the 
Chantry, Arthur Leighson was making a very careful toilet. 
He put on his best Etons, a pair of evening shoes, and some 
cuffs that reached his knuckles. Two cambric handkerchiefs 
he soaked in some abominable essence : with something out 
of a bigger bottle he deluged his hair. On the whole, he felt 
pleased with himself, but he could not help wishing that he 
had a better appetite. 

When he entered the morning-room he found Lance 
laughing over the current Punch; the rest were deep in some 
illustrated papers that the Colonel had bought expressly 
for his nephew. Perhaps it took Arthur about thirty sec- 
onds to realize that he was in the presence of four exceed- 
ingly well-bred as well as well-dressed boys. For though 
their Eton suits were somewhat worn, and their boots a 
little thicker than his dancing-shoes, Arthur could not but 
realize that in their presence he was anything but an impos- 
ing figure. 

Moved to much laughter by one of Charles Keeners de- 
lightful drawings, Lance did not immediately notice the en- 
trance of the boy he had so recently fought : but as Arthur 
began to shake hands with Hilary, Harry, and George, 
Lance rushed forward and gave his old enemy a grip so 


THE COLONEL’S LUNCHEON 113 

hearty that one would have thought them very old friends 
indeed. 

The luncheon could not have been “ birdier,” nor could 
the talk have been merrier. Arthur was the only silent 
member of the party of six, and he was silent for two rea- 
sons : he was not hungry, but he was forcing himself to eat ; 
he knew absolutely nothing of the books and the pictures, 
the games and sports, upon which these four merry lads were 
as eloquent as song-thrushes in spring. The Colonel was 
radiant. 

Arthur had trifled with chicken and played with roast 
duck and green peas, but it soon became clear to the Colonel 
that his nephew was not making a meal. However, the 
good man reflected that the lad had had an amazing break- 
fast, and that probably he had taken very little walking ex- 
ercise. But it was when the grouse came on the table that 
Arthur suddenly turned very pale and hastily left the dining- 
room. 

The Colonel sent a message to his housekeeper, and in 
a very short time the housekeeper sent a message to the 
Colonel. 

It’s all right,” said the latter to his guests. “ He’s a lit- 
tle bilious, that’s all. Change of air and food, you know — 
shaken up a bit by the journey. That’s right, Harry, have 
another bit of grouse. Shot ’em myself on the 12th. 
Hardly hung long enough, have they? But they’re not 
tough.” 


THE COLONEUS LUNCHEON 


114 

Then the Colonel told a grouse-story, which was received 
with such peals of boyish laughter that a most exceedingly 
miserable young gentleman upstairs wished all confectioners 
and cooks and uncles and Ridingdale boys at Jericho — but 
particularly confectioners. 

An hour or two later Arthur bestowed the same wish 
upon Dr. Nuttlebig, and upon his physic. The doctor was 
kindly facetious, but his patient was in no mood for 
humour. 

“ Well, I won’t give you away this time,” said the med- 
ical man as he took his leave. ” It was by the merest acci- 
dent that I overheard the catalogue of things you had at 
Kelveston’s. But making all allowances for a young appe- 
tite — well, my lad, there is such a thing as gluttony, and 
gluttony is a particularly ugly sin — eh ? ” 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 






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THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR. 


I. 

It must have been a week 
after the boys’ luncheon- 
party, it may have been a 
little more, when one morn- 
ing Colonel Ruggerson ap- 
peared at the Hall greatly 
perturbed and excited. They 
had just finished breakfast, 
and the Squire and Mrs. 

Ridingdale immediately car- 
ried off the distressed visitor 
to the study. 

'' Most awful catastro- 
phe ! ” he exclaimed. “ To 
a man of my habits nothing more dreadful could have 
happened. That boy’s mother has married again and 
bolted! Think of it! Writes as cool as you please, say- 
ing she knows that I will look after dear Arthur. Gra- 
cious heavens ! fancy my being saddled with a boy ! And 
such a boy ! ” 

It was his wont in all his annoyances to run to the Hall; 



ii8 THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 

generally, the Colonel’s troubles were of the crumpled rose- 
leaf order. 

“ It’s the very middle of the holidays,” he panted. 

Couldn’t get him into any school now for love or money. 
And I was just asking myself if I could possibly stand him 
for another day when this confounded letter came.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Ridingdale looked at one another. They 
quite understood what the Colonel wanted them to do. 

” Of course he’ll go to school directly the holidays are 
over; but it isn’t nearly the end of August yet, and schools 
don’t open for another month, do they? Or more, eh? 
Long before that time I shall be in a padded cell,” the 
Colonel moaned. 

It was hard for the Squire and his wife not to smile, but 
they managed to go on looking sympathetic. They did 
more. They both said that if the Colonel cared to send the 
boy to them they would try to make him happy. 

Apparently the Colonel did care to send Arthur to them ; 
at any rate, long before noon, Master Leighson was deliv- 
ered bag and baggage (including dressing-case and hat- 
box), at Ridingdale Hall. 

He could not complain of his welcome, but before the 
day was over he managed to complain of everything else. 
In her kindness Mrs. Ridingdale thought he was grieving 
for his mother; he quickly undeceived her. Later, in the 
presence of two of the boys, Arthur used language about 
his own mother that sent away Harry and Lance with 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 119 

scared faces and wondering eyes. His first little alterca- 
tion was with Hilary. 

“ ril show you your room,” Hilary said cheerily when 
the clock struck nine, and though the rest had all retired 
Arthur kept the easy-chair he had appropriated. 

“ Thanks. I don’t go to bed at nine o’clock. I always 
sit up.” 

You can sit up all night,” laughed Hilary, “ but it will 
have to be in bed.” 

Good-naturedly, but with a firm grip, Hilary lifted him 
up and threw him over his shoulder. Going upstairs, Ar- 
thur kicked a good deal and used language that Hilary may, 
or may not, have heard in the street ; but when the visitor 
called him a “ putrid bully,” the Squire’s eldest son was not 
pleased. 

'' You may not know that your uncle has asked us to give 
him a report of your conduct,” said Hilary, standing the 
boy on his feet, “ and particularly of your language. 
What you’ve just said to me, and what I overheard you 
say to my brothers. I’ll pass over this time. You are a bit 
upset, and no wonder. We’re all awfully sorry, and we’re 
all anxious to be nice with you in every way; but, though 
we can stand as much decent slang as most boys, we draw 
the line at gutter-language. I’m sure you understand.” 

Arthur looked a little ashamed, and perhaps a little 
frightened, but he said nothing. 

The next morning, when the boys were polishing their 


120 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


dogs, Hilary and Harry held a whispered consultation re- 
garding Arthur. 

He’s not down yet, I’m pretty sure,” said the former ; 
but, of course, it’s not a holyday of obligation. Anyhow, 
I won’t bother him this morning. Father will settle all 
these things, no doubt. He said that for the present we 
were to look upon Arthur as a guest.” 

‘‘ And some guests like to be left alone, don’t they ? ” 
asked Harry. 

'' ’Course they do. ’Tisn’t hard to leave some people 
alone. He’ll turn down for breakfast, no doubt.” 

It was an unwritten rule of the house not to talk freely 
and unnecessarily before Mass, so no more was said until 
the boys were returning from church. Even then, though 
they were all thinking of Arthur, they did not venture to 
discuss him at any great length. When people lead active 
and useful, and therefore happy lives, you generally find 
that they talk less of persons than of things. And the 
number of delightful things the Ridingdale boys had to talk 
about was considerable. Moreover, it was holiday time, 
and they were as careful of their six weeks’ as was Pippa of 
her twelve hours’ treasure. 

When the big merry party sat down to breakfast no 
Arthur had put in an appearance; but again there was so 
much to discuss, such a wealth of work and play to arrange 
for, that Arthur might have been forgotten if Mrs. Riding- 
dale had not mentioned his name. 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


I2I 


‘‘ I think, Hilary,” she said, you may run upstairs and 
see if Arthur is getting up. Perhaps we forgot to tell him 
that breakfast is always at a quarter-past eight.” 

Hilary found the guest fully dressed, sitting in an easy 
chair and reading a copy of some evening paper. He had 
been given a bed-room usually reserved for visitors, and 
Hilary at once detected the smell of tobacco — a little stale, 
and suggesting an overnight consumption of cigarettes. 
The big boy also noticed that the bath he himself had pre- 
pared for Arthur had not been used. Hilary made no com- 
ment, but remarked that breakfast was half over. 

This is a county house, ain’t it? ” Arthur inquired. 

“ Very much so,” smiled Hilary. 

‘‘ Well, I’ve heard ma say that in country houses people 
always have breakfast in their bed-rooms: in bed, if they 
like.” 

“ They don’t do it at Ridingdale Hall,” said Hilary. 

Arthur yawned — rather rudely thought the other boy. 

“ Want me to come down, I s’pose? ” 

“ I think you’d better,” Hilary answered. 

The peal of laughter heard by the late-comer as he en- 
tered the dining-room had of course no reference to him ; it 
had been raised by one of Harry’s original conundrums. 
But it so entirely coincided with Arthur’s entry that per- 
haps he may be forgiven for thinking that it was intended 
as a greeting. Both the Squire and his wife reassured him, 
and spoke to him with affectionate kindness. However, his 


122 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


first remark caused one of those momentary silences which 
are described as uncomfortable. 

“ You can take this poultice stuff away,” he said to 
Sarah, who had just set before him some fresh porridge and 
hot milk. “ I’ll have ham and eggs.” 

Sarah looked appealingly at her mistress. 

'' Will you kindly ask Jane to cook some rashers and 
eggs,” said Mrs. Ridingdale quietly. “I am afraid we 
have no ham just now,” she added turning to Arthur. 

“ Oh, it’ll be all right if the bacon’s hammy,” said the 
boy coolly, while five other boys hurt themselves a good 
deal in suppressing their laughter. Harry made a silent 
appeal to his mother for leave to retire, and as he and 
George and Lance and Alfie had finished they rose. 

Mr. Ridingdale was looking at his letters and passing 
them one by one to his wife. There was a note from the 
Colonel, and its contents amused them not a little. That 
good man was going to London, he said, but would be back 
in three days’ time, or less. Meanwhile, he hoped the 
Squire would treat Arthur — not as a guest, but as a boy 
among boys.” 

Hilary, Gareth, Maggie, and Connie now left the table, 
soon followed by their father, who went out to smoke a 
pipe on the lawn. Arthur seemed disposed to linger over 
his bacon and eggs, and in her happy way Mrs. Ridingdale 
tried to chat with him; but she who could always put both 
great and small people at their ease had little success with 
the Colonel’s nephew. 



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THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


125 


II. 

Quietly pacing the lawn in great enjoyment of his pipe 
and a volume of Milton, the Squire was fully conscious that 
a more than usually enthusiastic meeting was being held in 
Sniggery. True to his invariable practice, he kept well out 
of hearing of anything but an indistinct echo of boys’ 
voices. He knew his sons and could trust them. He knew 
also that if they wanted his help they would come to him. 

As a matter of fact, Hilary was watching his father 
closely, and waiting for the moment when the book would 
be pocketed, and the ashes knocked from the pipe: for 
though the Squire had never forbidden the lads to interrupt 
that after-breakfast quarter of an hour, they all instinctively 
respected it. Indeed, on Sundays and holidays when father 
did not at once retire to his study, the end of his morning 
literary snack, as he called it, was the signal for his im- 
mediate capture and detention — either in Sniggery or 
Snuggery. 

It’s about Arthur, father,” said Hilary running up as 
Mr. Ridingdale closed his book. “ W ould you like us to 
take him anywhere, or do anything special for him? You 
see, father, we’d made our programme for the day, but of 
course we’ll change it if you think we ought.” 

The Squire took the proffered programme and glanced 
at it smilingly. 


126 


THE CONDUCT OP ARTHUR 


“It seems very full, Hillie, but quite satisfactory. It in- 
cludes lawn-mowing, rolling, rehearsal of play, cricket, ten- 
nis, rowing and swimming: and plenty of each. Perhaps 
as this is Arthur’s first full day with you you might leave 
out the lawn-mowing and the rolling of the cricket-pitch : 
unless they are quite necessary.” 

“ Well, that’s just it, father; I’m afraid they are. What 
with the Colonel’s party and the two matches, we’ve lost 
a working day or two lately. The pitch wants rolling aw- 
fully badly, and as for the lawn — well,” said Hilary, rub- 
bing his clogged feet over the grass, “ you can see for 
yourself, father.” 

‘‘ All right, my dear : stick to your programme by all 
means. Probably Arthur will like to help you in some- 
thing. If he doesn’t, he’ll be able to look after himself. 
Don’t work too long or too hard, Hillie.” 

Hilary went back to Sniggery with a queer sort of smile 
on his ruddy face. He thought it clear that his father did 
not yet know much of Arthur. Ought he, Hilary, to have 
spoken of the bed-room smoking? He fancied not. For 
him and his brothers smoking was a penal offence ; but then 
Arthur was a guest. As for the neglect of the bath, well 
that couldn’t be spoken of — to anybody. Hilary had a 
hazy recollection of somebody in the nursery having once 
objected to his bath, but he was quite sure that the some- 
body had not then reached the age of reason. 

It may be doubted if Hilary could have told his father 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


127 


any one thing concerning Arthur that Mr. Ridingdale did 
not already know. Even as he passed through the house 
into his study the Squire was wondering if it would not be 
better at once to relieve the young guest of his stock of 
cigarettes. A long chat to-day with the Colonel had been 
counted upon by Arthur’s host ; he was sorry that the great- 
uncle was not available. A settled policy in regard to the 
treatment of the stranger was most necessary. It was all 
very well for the Colonel to write, ‘‘ treat him as a boy 
among boys : ” but what did that imply? The Squire knew 
by experience that his old friend did not always mean what 
he said. 

'' Better let the boy be regarded as a privileged guest 
during these three days,” the Squire said to himself as he 
sat down to his writing-table. “ A spoilt child may some- 
times be worth more consideration than his spoiler.” 

Lawn-mowing is no trifle when you have to deal with 
a great area of grass like that which lies between the Hall 
and its kitchen-gardens. Two machines, however, were 
in motion before the clock struck nine, and an hour later 
when Arthur made his appearance on the terrace he stood 
watching two couples of very hot-looking boys, trying, and 
succeeding, in getting some fun out of what was in reality 
rather hard work. Disgust and discretion kept the visitor 
at a safe distance from Harry and George and Lance and 
Alfie, and after looking about him idly for a few minutes, 
Arthur went back into the house and sought his bed-room. 


128 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


Looking through his window into the park, he saw Hilary 
driving the pony that was pulling the big roller. Arthur’s 
remark need not be set down here. 

Work made a big hole in the boys’ morning, for when 
they had finished the lawn they were surprised to find 
that it was half-past eleven, and that Sarah was carrying 
to vSniggery a huge jug of milk and some slices of currant- 
loaf. Hilary was already sitting there. Laughing and 
cheering, the rosy and voluble lads crowded about the good 
housemaid and toasted her in glasses of new and creamy 
milk. 

'‘What has Master Arthur done with himself, Sarah?” 
they demanded. 

Sarah sniffed. It was her one bad habit. Also, its 
exercise was a bad sign. When Sarah sniffed she always 
followed it up by speaking in the style condemned by 
Hamlet : 


Pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 

As, “Well, we know;” or, “We could, an if we would;” 

Or, “If we list to speak;” or, “There be, and if there might: 
Or such ambiguous giving out. 


This morning Sarah sniffed twice, and then her imme- 
diate reply did not seem to be quite to the point. It was 
to the effect that “ if some people was so high and mighty 
that they treated you like the dirt under their feet, they 
should take a valet about with ’em. That’s all she'd got to 
say.” And with another sniff, she went back to the house. 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


129 


Well,” said Lance, “ if he’s offended Sarah, he’s just 
been and gone and done it; that’s all I can say.” 

“ I hope he hasn’t been really rude to her,” George re- 
marked. 

If he has, he’ll hear about it,” Hilary put in — rather 
sharply. 

“ How long is he going to stop? ” asked Alfie, counting 
the remaining pieces of cake. 

Hush! ” whispered Lance. “ He’s coming.” 

Smelt the cake and milk, the beggar ! ” Harry sug- 
gested. 

Alfie re-counted the remaining slices of currant-bread, 
and sighed. He was the youngest of the five — now in- 
creased to six. 

“ Hello, you chaps ! ” began Arthur, as he swaggered into 
Sniggery. ‘‘Finished that navvy business, eh?” 

“ If you mean the lawn-mowing,” Hilary answered 
quietly, “ why, yes. Have some cake and milk ? W e’ll 
soon get another glass. Alfie, run to the kitchen for a 
tumbler.” 

“No, thanks; no stodge of that sort. That just is a 
shouting cake; my eye! I could hear it right across the 
lawn.” 

Tt was too bad of Harry; but, unluckily, the Sniggery 
Shakespeare was lying open at Midsummer Nighfs Dream, 
some scenes from which the boys intended to represent in a 
few days’ time. In his exaggeratedly comic way, Harry 
recited, as' though reading to himself, the lines: 


130 THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 

Com,e, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 

While I thy amiable cheeks do slap, 

And stick some thistles in thy sleek smooth head 
And box thy fair large ears, ungentle chap. 



Even Hilary jumped up hastily, and pretended to refer 
to the written programme of the day’s doings fastened on 
the wall behind him. Lance made a sudden rush for' the 



THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


131 

Open, and retired into the shrubbery, in order to laugh 
unseen. George was the only one of the five who managed 
to control his features and his voice, as he remarked — with 
a deep blush — “ Fm glad Harry reminded us of the re- 
hearsal ; it’s nearly time for it ; isn’t it, Hillie ? ” 

Harry was still bending over the well-worn copy of 
Shakespeare, as though seeking for another passage that 
might lend itself to adaptation. No one had dared to look 
at Arthur — now half-way across the lawn. To say that 
he was deeply offended, expresses his condition of mind 
very feebly. 

“ Too bad, Harry,” declared Hilary. 

“ To bad of him, you mean? ” 

No, of you. We ought to draw the line ‘at personali- 
ties. He’s probably sensitive on the points of ears,” Hilary 
said. 

Anything the matter with his ears? ” asked Harry. 

Don’t humbug. And when you apologize to him don’t, 
for goodness sake, say you hadn’t noticed that he had such 
big ears.” 

“ Hillie ! Hillie ! ” shrieked Harry, holding his sides, 

don’t be as funny as you can. Remember the chap in 
Holmes’ verses. But, I- say ” — Harry became suddenly 
sober — “ I really hadn’t noticed his ears ; honour bright ! 
I was only thinking of his long hearing. You know he said 
he could hear this cake shouting when he was at the other 
end of the lawn.” 

“ His ears wouldn’t be nearly so prominent if his hair 


132 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


wasn’t cut so short, and in such a fantastic style,” Hilary 
said; “ but I should say that if he has a sore point ” 

“ xA.fter Lannie’s boxing ’em the other day,” Harry inter- 
rupted. 

“Didn’t mean that. We mustn't hurt his feelings, you 
know.” 

“Of course I’ll apologize. But he’s no right to abuse 
our mother’s cake.” 

“ ’Course he hasn’t,” chimed in Alfie, who was finishing 
the last slice. “ He called it stodge.” 

“ Time for the rehearsal, isn’t it? ” asked Lane?, putting 
his head into Sniggery. “ Don’t think I can go through 
my songs for laughing. I say, Harry! How can you?” 

For the incorrigible one, having made sure that Arthur 
had disappeared, was singing to himself : 

I know it’s not a sin 
For me to sit and grin, 

At him thee7'. 

But the bumptious little brat 
In the chimney-potter hat, 

Is so queer. 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


133 



III. 


For the al fresco entertainment they had chosen a de- 
lightful corner of the lawn, a veritable fairy grot, with a 
mossy bank and no lack of musk-roses. Mignonette did 
duty for wild thyme, and flowers of every hue, their queen 
the bashful rose,” took the place of oxlips and violets. 
Needless to say, this outdoor stage was the scene of to-day’s 
rehearsal. 

Tn adapting Shakespeare to their own limitations and 
requirements the boys had made short work of the two 
couples of mortal lovers, retaining onh^ the pretty fairy 
scenes and the comicalities of Quince, Snug, Bottom, and 
their companions. Indeed, they had made havoc of “ the 
book,” and with the best possible results. Somebody has 
boasted that Shakespeare never blotted a line: Ben Jonson 


134 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


said he ought to have blotted a thousand. Ben’s estimate 
was a modest one. Those who read Shakespeare’s plays, 
instead of reading about them, would cheerfully dispense 
with more than a thousand lines. 

I say this because some of the boys had now and again 
been disturbed by what they found in an author so highly 
regarded by their elders, and in plays that they were en- 
couraged to read and study. 

“ It is always better to face facts than to blink them,” 
their father had said. “ In some authors — classical au- 
thors, too — there is more bad than good. These we re- 
fuse to read. In Shakespeare, though there is much that 
no Christian can defend, there is very much more that is 
good and wise and beautiful, and therefore fit for mental 
food. We reject the bad, just as in this basket of fruit ” 
— he pointed to a quantity of strawberries he had brought 
into Sniggery — you will throw away the over-ripe, the 
grub-eaten, and the rotten. By far the greater part of the 
best literature in the world has to be treated in this way. 
In some ways books are like men. In this life we can’t 
hope to be entirely surrounded by saints; but a thoroughly 
vicious man or boy, like a completely bad book, we can al- 
ways keep at arm’s length. The average man will have 
his good qualities. We must make the most of them, even 
while we silently disapprove of what is bad in him.” 

Although Tommie Lethers and one or two other “ chil- 
dren of the choir ” were helping, some of the parts had to 
be doubled, and, as usual, Lance found himself with plenty 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


135 


to do. Every portion of the play for which they could find 
music was sung, and Lance had not only to assume the 
character of Puck and sing all the songs of that engaging 
sprite, but also to take part in “Ye Spotted Snakes,” with 
its lullaby chorus, and the famous duet, “ I know a Bank 
whereon the Wild Thyme grows.” 

There was no mistaking Harry’s enjoyment of his part 
as the weaver, and Hilary made an excellent Quince — 
though his sense of humour was not equal to that of his 
brother. George was Oberon, and mingled his mellow 
contralto voice with Puck’s delightful treble in a way that 
made even the actors applaud the duets. 

Experience proved that outdoor rehearsals, however 
pleasant, did not fend to the saving of time. The spacious 
sunlit scene and the unwinged, uncurtained stage, backed 
only with ‘flowers and shrubs, the soft turf under their feet 
— everything seemed to discount discipline and to increase 
the difficulty of prompter and call-boy. Even Tommie 
Lethers, usually so shy in the presence of the Squire’s boys, 
seemed to become infected with the high spirits of Harry 
and Lance and Alfie, and it was only when Llilary threat- 
ened to transfer the rehearsal to Arts and Crafts that, in a 
measure, the general larkiness ceased. 

It was fortunate perhaps that they were taking matters 
more soberly, for just as they were finishing the third act 
they noticed that they had an audience of two persons — 
their father and Arthur Leighson. 

Erom his study-window the Squire had seen his young 


136 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


guest moving about in an aimless, discontented sort of way. 
Leaving his work, Mr. Ridingdale had joined the lad and 
brought him to the scene of the rehearsal. They had 
walked only from the park to the lawn, but the Squire was 
still marvelling at the nature of some of Arthur’s remarks. 

“ An outdoor play ! ” the boy had exclaimed when told 
of the rehearsal on the lawn. “ That’s rather a swagger 
thing, ain’t it? ” 

What do you happen to mean by ^ a swagger thing ’ ? ” 
the Squire asked pleasantly. 

Floundering somewhat in his reply, Arthur seemed to 
imply that by swagger he meant aristocratic. Mr. Riding- 
dale laughed. 

“ Don’t you think, my boy, that a genuine aristocrat 
would be quite the last person in the world to swagger — 
eh ? But I fail to see that there is anything specially aristo- 
cratic about an open-air play. By the way, what is your 
notion of an aristocrat? ” 

Arthur glanced at the tall, handsome man at his side, 
the host of whom he was beginning to be just a little afraid, 
and said desperately, “Well, you’re one, ain’t you?” 

The Squire turned away his head — not to hide a blush 
but to conceal a very broad smile as he asked — “ Is it my 
swagger that makes you think so ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” answered the boy, looking uncomfortable, 
“ but you’re the son of a lord, ain’t you ? ” 

“ Well, to be correct, the grandson,” said Mr. Riding- 
dale; “but I’m glad you didn’t find it out through my 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


137 


swagger. Ah, here we are! Where have they got to, I 
wonder ? ” 

It was not a dress rehearsal, though a few of the prop- 
erties were lying about, and Harry in his character of 
Bottom had already assumed the ass’s head — one that he 
declared he had made for the occasion entirely out of his 
own noddle. 

“ We’re just in time for the fourth act,” the Squire re- 
marked to his companion. 

“ Pantomime, ain’t it ? ” Arthur asked. 

‘‘ Not exactly. If you listen, you’ll recognize Shake- 
speare’s Midsummer Nighfs Dream, you know.” 

Oh ! ” ejaculated the boy, and began to 'wonder if he 
had not seen it at some one of the many music-halls with 
which he was familiar. He remembered now that his 
mother had called Shakespeare “ heavy.” 

Suddenly he heard the lines that he thought had been 
addressed to himself that very morning in Sniggery. After 
all, he mused, Harry had not intended to refer to any ears 
but those of the donkey-headed person in the play. That, 
at any rate, was satisfactory. It was true that the lines he 
had just heard did not seem to be quite the same as those re- 
cited by Harry in Sniggery, but to a boy who could not 
have quoted a line of Shakespeare if his life had depended 
upon it, one version of Titania’s speech was as good as an- 
othei^ 

For the first time that morning Arthur laughed, and the 
Squire’s opinion of him rose immediately. There is always 


138 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


hope for a boy who laughs — honestly. Harry was cer- 
tainly making the most of his part as the weaver trans- 
formed into an ass. The actors were now doing their best. 
When they came to the little trio which begins 

Fairy King, attend and mark: 

I do hear the morning lark — 

Arthur could not but show that he was impressed by the 
exquisite harmony the three singers produced. 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


139 


The afternoon pro- 
gramme consisted of a 
quiet row on the river, 
including a little luxu- 
rious sitting about 
either afloat or ashore 
— always with a fa- 
vourite book under a 
shady tree — and a 
pleasant dip and swim 
before the boat-house 
tea. The two boats, 

St. Stanislaus and St. 

Nicholas, were not 
built for racing purposes ; but though in spring and autumn 
the boys could not always resist the temptation of trying 
their rowing skill one against another, in the hot summer 
weather they reserved their energies for swimming contests. 

Arthur was, of course, to be included in the water-party, 
and though each of his companions was longing to ask him 
if he could swim, for some reason or other they all hesitated 
to put the question : perhaps they had an instinctive feeling 
that it would be answered in the negative. Moreover, since 
they all realized that not only was Arthur a guest but a 



140 


THE CONDUCT OP ARTHUR 


somewhat touchy one, and as courtesy was the last thing 
in the world in which they were deficient, they put the ques- 
tion by indefinitely. 

At mother’s suggestion they took down to the boats a 
goodly dessert of plums and, for Arthur’s delectation, a 
small basket of apricots. George had begged to be excused 
for an hour or so. The next number of the overdue Bozv- 
Wozv was giving him pricks of conscience, and though it 
was understood that this pen-and-ink treasury of literature 
and art must not be expected to appear with absolute regu- 
larity, particularly during the months of summer, yet, as 
George said, there was a time-limit after all, and one that 
ought not to be exceeded. He would turn up at the boat- 
house at four o’clock, he promised, bringing with him the 
milk and buns and other materials for a four o’clocker. 

As Hilary, Harry, Lance, and Alfie appeared on the 
terrace ready to start for the river, Arthur looked at them 
with amazement. They had removed their stockings and 
thrust their bare feet into low clogs. In their white flannel 
shirts and broad-brimmed straw hats they looked delight- 
fully cool and fresh, and prepared for any amount of water- 
larking. Master Arthur Leighson seemed to be dressed for 
an evening party. 

They greeted him with such effusive good-nature that, 
fortunately for everybody concerned, his opening question 
as to “ Why the deuce they were looking so pleased with 
themselves?” was completely drowned. What with fruit 
and books and bathing toggery and towels, they were all 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


141 

pretty well laden, but they did not dream of imposing any 
small burden upon their guest, and, needless to say, he did 
not offer to relieve them of anything. 

D’ye go this way to the river? ” asked Arthur, as the 
party began to move across the lawn. 

'' Oh, yes,” laughed Harry, “ we always make a bee-line 
for the water. Can’t coax our river to run uphill, some- 
how. We go through the kitchen garden, and then down 
the meadows that skirt our park on this side.” 

“ ’Tisn’t far,” said Hilary encouragingly. “ Down a 
couple of fields, and there we are.” 

Hilary forgot the brook, for whichever way you take to 
the boat-house you must at some point or other cross that 
brook. And a very delightful thing it is to cross — when 
your bare feet are shod with clogs instead of drawing-room 
shoes. 

“How the dickens am I to get through this?” Arthur 
inquired, as his companions began to splash across one of 
the prettiest rivulets in the Dale — one of those rippling, 
singing, hurrying brooks that seem always to be laughing 
to themselves and saying “ look-sharp-and-let-us-get-to-the- 
river-as-fast-as-ever-we-can ! ” 

“ So sorry,” said Hilary apologetically ; “ I quite forgot. 
Never mind; come on! ” And before x\rthur had time to 
swear, or even to scream, Hilary had landed him safely on 
the other side of the brook. 

“ How beastly strong you are ! ” exclaimed Arthur as 
Hilary put him down; the dignity of the guest was hurt. 


142 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


'' Can’t help it, you know,” Hilary replied good-humour- 
edly ; always have been. Born so, I suppose. Strength 
comes in handy now and then, don’t you think ? ” 

But with some anxiety Arthur was examining his thin 
shoes. He had unwittingly stepped into a puddle. There 
had been recent rain, and the grass was no drier than it 
ought to have been. It was all very well for these chaps in 
wooden shoes, he told himself, but — well he was begin- 
ning to wish himself elsewhere. 

Yet the sight of the boat-house interested him. It was, 
in every sense of the word, a riverside Sniggery, furnished 
and decorated by the boys, and containing what Harry was 
pleased to call “ a choice gallery of Young Masters ” — a 
description of which belongs to quite another story. In- 
deed, Arthur showed a strong disposition to remain here 
while the others went for their row and swim; but when 
they reminded him that it was only about half-past two, and 
that tea would not be ready until four, or later, he some- 
what unwillingly consented to go on board the St. Nicholas. 

It had never occurred to them that Arthur would have 
any difficulty in getting into the boat. Hilary and the rest 
were so much at home in and on the water that, when they 
had launched their respective crafts, they just waded 
through the stream and clambered over the sides, taking off 
their clogs and throwing them beforehand into the boats. 
They were all seated before Hilary realized that Arthur was 
still standing on the bank looking with horror at the shallow 
strip of water that lay between himself and the boat. 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


143 


I’m so sorry,” exclaimed Hilary; “and we haven’t got 
a plank in either boat ! However, I’ll bring her as near the 
bank as I can. It’s too shallow just here to pull her quite 
close to where you’re standing. Do you mind walking a 
few yards higher up ? ” 

Hilary and Lance had charge of St. Nicholas, the bigger 
and heavier boat : Harry and Alfie were already ahead with 
St. Stanislaus. As soon as Hilary and Lance got their tub 
into rather deeper water, they began to hug the bank — 
anything but a high one. 

It now became clear that Arthur was not in the habit of 
getting into boats. Twice he attempted, and failed, to step 
into St. Nicholas: the third time he meant to succeed. So 
he put one foot on the tub, and slowly pushed it away from 
the bank. Then he stepped into — the water ! 

Hilary had him out long before he could sink, but his 
screams were heard nearly a quarter of a mile away. To 
his reiterated remark that he might have been drowned, 
Hilary said at length that even if Arthur had tried he 
would hardly have succeeded. Trousers, socks, and shoes 
were of course dripping, but the upper part of his body was 
quite dry. It was such a hot afternoon that there was little 
danger of his catching cold ; however, he was so certain he 
would “ get his death ” if he remained on the river that 
Hilary rowed back to the boat-house. 

“ We’ve lots of dry things in the shanty,” said Lance, as 
he landed with Arthur, leaving Hilary in the boat. “We 
always keep some clean stockings here and bathing-drawers 


144 the conduct OF ARTHUR 

and — toggery. Fll give you the things, and while you’re 
changing I’ll get some wood for the stove; then I’ll light 
a fire and dry your clothes. Sorry we’ve no slippers here, 
but, if you don’t mind putting on clogs until your shoes are 
dry, there are two pairs in the cupboard.” 

When Lance returned with the sticks, he found Arthur 
looking with great disgust at the clogs, and evidently hesi- 
tating about putting them on. 

“ I say,” he remarked as Lance set to work to make the 
fire, “ I can’t put my foot in a thing like this.” 

“ Try the other pair,” suggested Lance, “ perhaps they 
are bigger.” 

Suspecting chaff, Arthur looked keenly at Lance, but the 
latter was fully occupied in trying to make the fire burn. 

’Tisn’t that,” snapped the guest, “ they’re a mile too 
big.” 

“ Oh, then that’s all right,” remarked Lance, blowing 
away at the fire, “ they won’t pinch you.” 

“ How can you fellows wear such things as these ? ” 
Arthur asked with some scorn, taking up one of the clogs 
and examining its iron-bound sole. 

“ What things ? ” demanded Lance. '' Oh, you mean 
clogs?” 

“ Yes,” said the other, they’re not the things for the 
sons of a gentleman to wear, you know.” 

“Aren’t they?” asked Lance innocently: “well, you 
see, my father evidently thinks they are. We never wear 
anything else, yovt l^now, except in drawing-rooms.” 


145 


, THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 

Arthur blushed a little and made some show of putting 
his foot into one of the clogs. 

“ Better try a bigger pair,” Lance suggested, seeing that 
Arthur could not get his heel into the clog. 

It’s these frightfully thick stockings, I expect,” said 
Master Leighson, fearful of having to admit that his foot 
was bigger than Lance’s. 

Very likely,” Lance admitted, seeing now exactly what 
was in the other’s mind. “ These are George’s: try them.” 

At length, with a wry face, Arthur put on the clogs — 
scarcely a bit too big for him — and proceeded to walk gin- 
gerly across the boat-house floor. 

They’re not quite so heavy as I thought they would 
be,” he admitted. 

They are not nearly so heavy as a shooting boot,” said 
Lance, or as an ordinary boot — when it’s wet. The clog 
sole is made of ever such light wood, and the iron hardly 
counts. Hilary goes to Lord Dalesworth’s for the shoot- 
ing, so he’s obliged to get a pair of boots ; well, he’s weighed 
them against his clogs, and he finds that the boots are ever 
so much heavier.” 

“ Lord Dalesworth’s your uncle, ain’t he ? ” 

My father’s uncle, yes,” replied Lance, ‘‘ and so ” 

Good heavens!” exclaimed Arthur suddenly, ‘Hhere’s 
somebody coming! and I’m not fit to be seen.” 

“ It’s only George,” suggested Lance, going to the boat- 
house door. 

There’s a lady. I’ll swear I heard her voice.” 


146 


THE CONDUCT OP ARTHUR 


Hurrah! ” shouted Lance, “ then it’s mother — perhaps 
father. They’ve come to tea. This is glorious I ” 

“ What on earth am / to do? ” asked Arthur piteously. 

“ You’re all right. You’ve only to lie low. They won’t 
have tea in here. We shall picnic on the river bank : 
perhaps in one of the boats. Do excuse me for a moment: 
I must take mother a chair.” 

A more comical picture of misery than Arthur Leighson 
could not be imagined. In spite of Lance’s assurance to 
the contrary, the guest was in deadly fear lest Mr. and 
Mrs. Ridingdale should climb the boat-house stairs and see 
him in his nondescript costume. His trousers were already 
drying at the stove, but to his horror he noticed that his 
cheap and nasty patent-leathers were reduced to the con- 
dition of pulp. He greatly doubted if he would ever be 
able to wear them again. Even before he found himself 
in the river, he had stepped into many wet and muddy 
places, and the cardboard horrors he called shoes had been 
seriously damaged. 


* 


I ' 




\ 



V. 

Meanwhile the boys had returned from their expedition 
up the river, and were all engaged in laying out a picnic tea 
on the grassy bank close to the boat-house stairs. Lance 
clattered upstairs with a kettle of water which he put on the 
stove to boil; then, with an apology to Arthur, he dashed 
down again with a pile of cups and saucers. The busy 

merriment below was delightful. George had brought not 

148 


j THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 149 

only milk, but tea and cake, bread and butter. Congratu- 
lating himself upon the fact that the upper part of his 
person was fashionably clad, Arthur ventured to peep 
through the boat-house window. He admitted to himself 
that the sight was a pretty one. 

“ They just seem to worship their mother,” he said to 
himself, as he watched them, enviously, “ and their dad too, 
for that matter.” 

His desire to join the family circle became keen. The 
stove was beginning to make the boat-house uncomfortably 
hot, for Lance had built a roaring fire. There was comfort 
in the fact that the wet toggery would soon be dry — all 
but the shoes. Arthur began to understand the utility of 
knickerbockers and stockingless feet in clogs. 

‘‘ I won’t let the others see you,” said Lance rushing 
again into the boat-house for more things. “ I told mother 
we were drying some clothes, and that you’d rather be 
alone for a bit. You would — wouldn’t you? ” 

“ O yes ; for heaven’s sake don’t let anybody see me ! ” 

“ Well, ril bring you some tea. These apricots are for 
you: we brought them on purpose. Hope you like ’em? ” 
“Don’t I! You’ll see!” And he began to demolish 
them forthwith. 

Below, everybody seemed to be laughing and talking 
at once. Now and again Arthur heard the tum-tum of 
some stringed instrument: the thought came to him that 
if these people had not met one another for a year they 
could hardly have shown more delight. Presently, Lance 


150 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


ran upstairs again with tea and cake. Arthur’s apricots 
had vanished. 

“ What time is dinner? ” asked the guest. 

'‘Dinner!” exclaimed the astonished Lance. “Oh, I 
beg your pardon ; I forgot. At your uncle’s you dine in the 
evening, of course. Well, you know we’ve had it; we 
always have dinner at one o’clock. Supper is at eight.” 

Arthur stared, but said nothing. The fruit had given 
him an appetite for tea. He had not finished when the turn- 
turn of George’s mandolin began again, and Lance’s voice 
was heard in a quaint old English song which to one listener 
at least was very new indeed : 

O for a booke and a shadie nooke, 

Eyther in-a-door or out ; 

With the grene leaves whispering overhede, 

Or the streete cryes all about, 

Where I may reade all at my ease 
Both of the newe and olde ; 

For a jollie good booke whereon to looke, 

Is better to me than golde. 

The most thoughtless people do a little thinking now and 
then, particularly when they find themselves quite alone and 
with nothing else to do. Having finished his tea, Arthur 
was unoccupied. He was of the number who do not think 
— if they can help it. Thoughts, many and puzzling 
thoughts, were trying to press themselves upon his atten- 
tion. Such as it was, his philosophy was at fault. The 
two main principles of his life — to be smart, and to know 
smart people — did not at this moment seem to recommend 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


\ 


151 


themselves quite so much as usual. To him, religion was a 
negligible quantity. His nominally Catholic mother had 
sent him to many different schools; not one of them had 
been Catholic. Except that of Baptism, he had received no 
Sacrament of the Church. 

Religion, then, did not enter into his thoughts, but as he 
glanced down from time to time upon the merry group on 
the river-bank, it suddenly occurred to him that these peo- 
ple — who ought to have been smart, but were not — were 
altogether the happiest he had ever met. As he put it to 
himself, “ These chaps were having a jolly good time.” 
Moreover, they alzvays seemed to be having a good time. 
This appealed to Arthur Leighson; this at any rate he 
could understand — and long for. Yet he was out of it, 
he told himself, not merely at this moment, but generally, 
and that very largely through his own fault. He diet not 
like the idea a bit, and determined not to dwell upon it, but 
he was beginning to have a suspicion that he was a coward. 
He could do nothing — but dress and smoke and swear. 
The first of these things the Ridingdales were completely 
indifferent to ; the second and third they altogether tabooed. 
In this new environment Arthur’s self-complacency was con- 
stantly being disturbed. Perhaps no one — not even his 
own mother, alas! — had ever thought much of him, but 
he had always approved of himself. The self-conceited 
and self-conscious are supposed to be independent of their 
neighbour’s approval; they are the people who crave it 
most. 


152 THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 

There was a sudden general movement beiow, and look- 
ing from the window, Arthur saw that Mr. and Mrs. Rid- 
ingdale were getting into one of the boats. On the bank 
itself, a generous altercation was going on between George 
and Lance. The latter wanted to remain behind and clear 
away the tea-things; George was saying that, through Ar- 
thur’s accident, Lance had missed his swim — had, more- 
over, been running about after various people most of the 
afternoon. Lance reminded George that he had been writ- 
ing all the afternoon, and that he ought to go up the river. 
Harry settled the matter by hauling off George to St. Stan- 
islaus, and by dropping Lance bodily into St. Nicholas. 
There was a peal of laughter, a splash of oars, and both 
boats were in motion. Down the river came a chorus of 
treble voices: 

• 

Row, row, onward we row, 

Song lightens our labour; 

Row, row, sing as we go, 

Keep each with his neighbour. 

With an exclamation that I need not record, Arthur 
turned away from the window. He was a little afraid of 
most of the boys, but, curiously enough, the one he dreaded 
most was Harry. For the guest was sadly wanting in the 
sense of humour, and to him this perpetually-laughing and 
joking Harry was a trial — chiefly, no doubt, because Ar- 
thur feared that he himself was sometimes the cause of the 
other’s laughter. 

Fortunately, the trousers were now quite dry, so that he 


153 


j THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 

was saved the humiliation of appearing before Harry in an 
incongruous costume; but the shoes were still so much wet 
rag and paper. Arthur had scarcely changed when Harry 
knocked at the door. 

“ I needn’t come in, you know,” began the laughing one ; 

but, if you don’t mind me just shoving these cups and 
things inside. There! thanks very much. Anything I can 
do for you?” 

“ O come in,” said Arthur. “ I want to get out of this. 
It’s so beastly hot.” 

Well,” laughed Harry, “ a big fire in a small room on 
a hot day does make for heat — doesn’t it ? But you are all 
right now ? ” 

“ Except for my shoes,” said the rueful guest, handling 
one of them gingerly. “ They don’t seem to get a bit 
drier.” 

“ Stuff of this sort doesn’t dry in a hurry,” remarked 
Harry, as he examined one of the shoes. “ You see, the 
sole was broken a bit; so of course the mud and the water 
have got well into it. Fact, I think you might as well pitch 
’em into the river at once.” 

How am I to get home ? ” demanded the thoroughly 
exasperated Arthur. 

Harry composed his face, and pretended to be thinking 
deeply; no doubt he was. Twice he opened his mouth to 
speak, and twice he refrained. 

Afraid we can’t very well get a carriage down these 
meadows,” he said at length, musingly. He thought of 


154 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


adding : “ If you did walk up the field in clogs, you’d 
probably survive it.” 

But reverencing the custom of his house, Harry from 
very courtesy forbore. 

“ I’ve got another pair of shoes in my bed-room,” Arthur 
suggested. 



All right,” said Harry, looking more thoughtful than 
ever; Fll go and fetch them for you.” 

And without another word he went. 

It really seemed as though disaster had marked Arthur 
Leighson for her own. The boating and swimming party 
had returned, and the boys at once made a rush for home. 
They badly wanted some cricket practice. The brook had 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


155 


to be crossed again, and Master Leighson was now de- 
termined not to be subjected to the indignity of being car- 
ried over it by Hilary or anybody else. 

Mother always crosses just here,” Lance said, as they 
came to a part where lay some broad stepping-stones. 

We generally jump it — a bit higher up. It’s not at all 
broad.” 

“ Oh, I’ll jump it all right,” said Arthur, hurrying on. 
“ You go first, and I’ll follow you.” 

Arriving at the place, Lance took a running leap across 
the water, followed by his brothers. Not to embarrass their 
guest, the boys did not turn round to see him jump — until 
they heard a splash and a shriek. Looking back, they saw 
Arthur lying full length in the brook ! 

Harry and Lance pretended not to notice the catastrophe, 
for Hilary and George had already run to Arthur’s help. 

“ Let us get somewhere where we can smile unseen,” 
said Harry, starting to run. “ We’re not wanted here, you 
know.” 

Yes,” spluttered Lance, “ if I don’t laugh out loud, I 
shall hurt myself.” 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


is6 


VI. 


That night, at Slipper-time on 
the lawn, the guest did not ap- 
pear. He had gone to bed, and 
a complete suit of Etons was dry- 
ing at the kitchen fire. No part 
of him was hurt, except his tem- 
per : that was rather seriously 
damaged. In the circumstances 
Mrs. Ridingdale thought every 
allowance ought to be made ; 
needless to say, every allowance 
was made. A dainty little sup- 
per was sent up to him, to- 
gether with a volume of Punch 
and other delightful picture- 
books. But why Sarah should have chosen that night of 
all others to give a month’s warning, Mrs. Ridingdale 
could not understand — at the time. 

Thus ended the second day of Arthur Leighson’s visit to 
Ridingdale Hall. 

Mrs. Ridingdale thought it the most natural thing in the 
world that Arthur should have his breakfast in bed. She 
visited him herself, and suggested that he need not hurry 
t(^get up — a suggestion that he acted upon by rising at 
noonday. 



THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


157 


But at dinner-time he was missing! Nobody had seen 
him go out, nobody knew his whereabouts. Jane had taken 
up his clothes and shoes — Sarah positively refused to go 
near him — and the said clothes and shoes, together with 
the tall hat, had disappeared. The boys thought he had 
in desperation j-un away ; their father and mother did not 
think so. 

As a matter of fact, the young man was at that very 
moment causing a certain amount of excitement at his 
uncle’s house by demanding luncheon, and showing a fixed 
determination to get it. He assured the Colonel’s house- 
keeper that the grub at the Hall was not fit to eat; that on 
the day before he had not had a morsel of dinner; that 
he was almost dying of hunger. 

Very unwillingly, and with many misgivings as to what 
the Colonel would say when he heard of this unexpected 
invasion, she gave him a cold, but plentiful luncheon, and 
Arthur proceeded to enjoy it leisurely — not to say length- 
ily. 

He was a little late in beginning, for -he had arrived at the 
Chantry just as the servants were sitting down to dinner, 
and in their master’s absence they were not at all disposed 
to be either disturbed or hustled. 

However, by three o’clock he had satisfied his hunger, 
had bribed the stable-boy to get him some cigarettes, and 
was sitting smoking under a shady tree on the lawn, when 
— well, when the, to him, most unexpected thing in the 
world brought him to his feet and sent the hot blood 


158 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


coursing through every vein in his body. His uncle was 
driving up the avenue! 

It was well perhaps that Arthur did not yield to his first 
impulse and run away: if he had done so, he would have 
been brought back ignominiously. For, of course, the 
groom had already told his master that “-Master Arthur 
was a-waiting to see him,” and that “ Master Arthur had 
ordered lunch, unexpected.” 

I am sorry to record it l^ecause it is a form of punish- 
ment greatly to be deprecated, but -the Colonel’s greeting 
of his nephew took the form of two smart boxes on each 
ear. Perhaps the cigarette, now lying smoking at the boy’s 
feet, partly accounted for this very warm reception. 

Then uncle and nephew went indoors, and it became the 
latter’s fate to answer, or try to answer, more questions than 
had ever been put to him before on any one occasion. 

Before the day was over, various other people had to 
stand the fire of the Colonel’s interrogations: he wanted 
to know — well, practically everything that Arthur had 
done and said since his stay at the Hall. Every one of the 
boys was examined separately, but it was only when the 
Colonel assured them that their silence, rather than their 
speech, would damage Arthur’s prospects for life that they 
consented to answer. He had already interviewed Mr. and 
Mrs. Ridingdale. 

“ I shall never forget the next day,” said Harry, who 
told me the whole story. “ Arthur was completely sub- 
dued, as you may imagine, and awfully afraid of what 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


159 


might happen to him. The Colonel had asked my father 
to begin by giving Master Leighson a good birching; 
father wouldn’t hear of that. Then the Colonel said he’d 
do it himself — he’s one of those people who don’t believe 
in flogging, you know — but of course he didn’t. He asked 
his groom if he would mind doing it, but the man seemed so 
pleased with the idea that his master was afraid he’d lay 
on too hard. So Arthur escaped. 

“ Next day Hilary and I had to take him down to the 
Chantry after breakfast and get the money from the Colonel 
for Arthur’s new rig-out. Of course he went with us like a 
lamb. He was awfully subdued, not a bit like the chap he 
had been the day before. We thought that the Colonel had 
frightened him, and so he had; but just then we did not 
know everything. 

“ Well, we got him a very decent suit of ready-made 
tweeds at Rups — Norfolk-] acket and knickerbockers and 
all that, and he seemed almost pleased to have them. But 
when we left the shop, and Hilary remarked that ‘ We’d 
better get the clogs next,’ Arthur looked at us with horror. 
He turned quite pale and said, ' He’s not really going to 
make me wear clogs, is he ? ’ Hilary could only say that 
he’d been told to get him two pairs of clogs, one of the 
ordinary kind and a lace-up pair. Arthur began to blubber 
in the street, and we had to wait about ever such a time 
before he was fit to go into the clog-shop. However, he 
kept a straight lip while he was being fitted, but he cried 
again as we were going back to the Chantry. We did our 


i6o THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 

best to cheer him up, and told him that he’d feel ever so 
jolly once he got used to his clogs, and would never want to 
wear anything else out of doors. 

“ By the time we got back to the Colonel’s the new suit 
had been handed in: the clogs Hilary and I brought with 
us. So the Colonel ordered Arthur to change his Etons 
and get into the new toggery at once. But we were an 
awful time getting home. Our friend pretended that he 
couldn’t walk in his new clogs. We told him to take his 
own time, and he did. He walked just like a cat on hot 
bricks, but we didn’t laugh at him, of course. We found 
out afterwards that his feet were sore through wearing 
thin and tight shoes. 

“ However, he hadn’t any shoes now. The Colonel had 
made him leave them and his Eton suit at the Chantry, for 
the present. 

“ He really did look funny in his new clothes. Perhaps 
they were just a bit too big for him: certainly his clogs 
seemed enormous — about twice as big as Lannie’s ; yet 
Hilary had bought the very smallest pair that Arthur could 
get his foot into. Of course having a big foot and very 
thin legs is no disgrace to a chap, and only a cad would 
ever chaff a fellow about things of that sort; but we were 
all glad when Hilary suggested to the Colonel that Arthur 
would be happier in trousers than in knickerbockers. 

For the first day or two we could scarcely get him out 
of doors. He used to keep by himself in Arts and Crafts 
when we were out, and just moon. One day I found him 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


i6i 


sitting there with one foot up on a box, looking so wofully 
at his big lace-up clog that if I hadn’t shut the door very 
quickly and made a rush, he would have seen me explode. 
We had all agreed that we would never laugh at him, 
however comical he might look, or whatever he might do. 
Not only that, but Hilary said we were not to chaff him 
in the way we often chaff one another, because he was very 
sore just then and not in a position to see a joke, however 



harmless. It was rather hard work for all of us. To make 
matters worse, on that day the Colonel came home Arthur 
had been to the barber — though even then his hair was 
about as short as it could be ; but now — well, I assure you, 
no prison crop in this world could have been closer than 
Arthur’s. 

Well, as you know, Arthur stayed with us till after 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 


162 

Christmas. He really did improve a lot: but I must say 
that though we all tried hard to be very kind to him — he 
told us afterwards we had been awfully good, and I could 
see he meant it — somehow or other he never became one 
of us. We could not take to him really, and that’s a fact. 
Yet, you know, all that time we never dreamt that he was 
not really the Colonel’s nephew.” 

But wasn’t he ? ” I asked in great astonishment. 

“Not a bit of it. His mother had lied to him about his 
age, or the Colonel, who had been suspicious all along, 
would have found it out before. Instead of being eleven, 
he was nearly thirteen. His mother was a widow when 
she married the Colonel’s nephew, and Arthur was a son of 
the first husband, who was a clerk of some sort. We often 
thought young Leighson must be older than he pretended 
to be, but we never said so either to him or to the Colonel. 

“ The Colonel behaved very decently, considering : in 
fact, it seemed a sort of relief to him when he found that 
Arthur did not belong to his family. 

“ But of course there was a tremendous shindy at the 
time. The Colonel told Arthur that he was a fraud, and 
that he’d been guilty of false pretences and things of that 
sort. We really were sorry for the poor chap that day. 
He was in an awful state, quite expecting that he would 
be taken up and sent to prison; for the Colonel had him 
locked up in the tool-house and said he was going to fetch 
the police. Just at the time I think he really meant it, but 
when my father and mother began to talk to him he got a 


THE CONDUCT OF ARTHUR 163 

bit calmer, and after a time he saw that there were heaps 
of reasons why young Leighson should not be prosecuted. 
Lannie was awfully good to Arthur that day.” 

“ And what became of the boy? ” I asked. 

‘‘ Oh, the Colonel sent him off to some nice Catholic 
orphanage — I forgot where. He never comes to Riding- 
dale. The Colonel goes to see him now and again, and is 
very kind to him. The orphanage people say that his con- 
duct has steadily improved, and he is just going to be ap- 
prenticed to a trade. The other day he sent the Colonel his 
portrait, in a group. He’s with a jolly-looking lot of fel- 
lows, all in good corduroy suits and hob-nailed boots, 
which I bet Master Arthur finds twice as heavy as the 
clogs he made such a fuss about at Ridingdale. Lance 
hears from him now and then. He liked Lance — most 
people do — but he couldn’t stand Hilary and me. Lance 
was mighty good to him up to the yery last. My brother 
has never said so, but I’m pretty sure he taught Arthur 
how to say his prayers. I know he helped him an awful 
lot in all sorts of ways; so did George. Yes, it was a 
rummy business. Since then — let’s see, it must be nearly 
three years ago — yes, three years next Christmas — we’ve 
had very few of the Colonel’s nephews down here ; I mean, 
you know, even of the genuine article. Between you and 
me,” said Harry, lowering his voice, “ I think the Colonel’s 
getting a bit shy of them.” 

'' And Sarah did not leave you after all ? ” 

Not she.” laughed Harry. 


I 


I 






LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 





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LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION. 


How Mr. Kittleshot, the mill-owner and reputed millionaire, 
first became acquainted with the Ridingdales has already 
been related : so also has the story of his conversion to the 
Catholic Church. We have heard too of the realization of 
his great scheme for a Secondary School on sound, if some- 
what original, lines. In these days it is not only fully 
'' recognized ” but has become a great educational force. 
Its character is unique. It is a free Catholic School for the 
sons of poor gentlemen : neither boarder nor day-boy pays 
any fee whatsoever. Its Visitor and the head of its govern- 
ing board is the Bishop of the diocese: its Rector is Father 
Horbury. Its masters are all -graduates of Oxford and 
Cambridge. Without being in any sense of the word a 
Choir School it pays great attention to music. 

Naturally enough, it is not able to receive every boy for 
whom application is made. Waiting or disappointed parents 
have been heard to say that it is much easier to get into the 

167 


i68 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


French Academy than into the Ridingdale High School; big 
as the building is, it can only accommodate a certain number. 

In any new educational establishment the first term is a 
somewhat anxious time for the masters. As yet they have 
no traditions : these have to be created, and thoughtful folk 
always shrink -from the making of a tradition. Happily for 
them,Hhe four Oxford men — five, if we count Father Hor- 
bury — who made up the original teaching staff, found 
themselves confronted with very few real difficulties. For 
the first term they had not found the use of the birch 
necessary, in any single case : in the second long term it was 
employed only once. Harry and Lance Ridingdale felt 
inclined to congratulate boys and masters — as well as 
themselves. Neither of them had a mind to be flogged at 
school. Both of them had been familiar with punishments 
of various kinds ; but then, these had always been inflicted at 
home. For until the opening of Mr. Kittleshot’s school, 
the Squire’s boys had been educated privately, first by their 
parents, afterwards by Father Horbury and Dr. Byrse. 

Of Hilary, George, and Willie, the Squire had no fear 
at all, and it cannot be said that he was anxious concerning 
Harry and Lance. He knew that they were full of good 
intentions and generous resolutions, and that if they could 
check their high spirits at necessary times and control their 
general tendency to create larks, all would be well. 

The third term had now come. Hilary had gone to 
Oxford, and Harry found himself at the head of his broth- 
ers. He was in his seventeenth year, but, except in height. 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


169 


he did not look his age : George, who was a year younger, 
might easily have been mistaken for the elder. Lance was 
over fourteen, nearly the same age as his foster-brother 
Willie Murrington. 

In this life, temptation must be expected; it must also 
be met and fought. Without it we should become very 
flabby creatures : it is easy enough to be good when we are 
not tempted. Lance knew all about temptations. He had 
had 'his falls as well as his victories. The unexpected had 
occasionally surprised him: now and again circumstances 
had seemed to be against him. Those who have followed 
his history know something of his past faults and conse- 
quent sufferings. 

During the past year he had been anything but faultless : 
yet even the Colonel had remarked upon Lance’s steady 
improvement. He had a good character with his class- 
master, and with the school-staff generally. Father Hor- 
bury had already hinted that, after the Christmas holidays, 
Lance would receive a prefect’s toga ” — the blue blouse 
which distinguished the boy-prefects from their white- 
bloused school-fellows. For after much discussion and 
controversy the governors of the school, while permitting 
both boarders and day-boys to wear their own clothes, had 
adopted the blouse as a kind of uniform. In the same way, 
every High School boy had either to wear the regulation 
clogs, or to get his ordinary boots soled with wood and 
iron. There was therefore no difference between the dress 


170 


LANCE'S BIG TEMPTATION 


of one boy and another except in the colour of the blouse. 

Rabbiting would soon be coming on at the Hall, and 
Lance was particularly anxious to have a couple of ferrets 
of his own. Hearing of this, Jack Barson had begged from 
One-Eyed Jim two young specimens which, with his father’s 
permission, Lance had accepted. 

Going to school on a certain November morning, and 
intending to call for the ferrets on his way back to dinner, 
he met Jack carrying them to the Hall. Stopping to exam- 
ine the ferrets, instead of allowing Jack to proceed, Lance 
put one within his blouse and, leaving the other in its bag, 
handed it to Gareth. At that moment, as he afterwards 
said, he was only actuated by the motive of saving Jack 
any further trouble or waste of his master’s time. 

Arrived at school, however, the temptation to have a 
little fun soon became great. To begin with, each boy 
found the wriggling, restless thing in his blouse somewhat 
of a distraction. Coming in a little late, they had taken 
their places in the Study-hall without any one guessing the 
nature of what they carried, and though they were sitting 
some distance apart, they could not forbear making signals 
to one another. But all might have been well if Gus Byrse 
had not been sitting just in front of Lance. An amiable 
dog was a terror to this town-bred, and rather conceited, 
youth. What would a ferret be? The temptation to ex- 
periment was too strong for Lance. 

He had only intended, as soon as the master’s attention 
was relaxed, merely to hold the beast over Gus’s shoulder 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 171 

and then withdraw it. Unfortunately, Master Byrce’s 
scream was of such a piercing sort that the startled Lance 
nipped the ferret and was himself nipped in return. Then 
he dropped it, and in two seconds the entire room was in 
uproarious pursuit. 

Most of them being country lads who knew all about 
such vermin, they began the ferret hunt with great good- 
will and deafening noise, while a few frightened youngsters 
joined in the anguished screams of the Byrses with a 
shrillness and intensity that is supposed to belong to the 
other sex. 

Gareth’s opportunity came when the hunt was fast and 
furious and the noise was at its height. Slipping the other 
ferret from its bag he joined cofi amore in the chase. 

The three masters and Dr. Byrse were powerless. After 
strenuous but futile efforts to check the hubbub, two of 
them joined in the hunt. Dr. Byrse left the school-room. 
Mr. Meredith looked on. 

Then the cry arose, “ There are two of ’em ! ” and the 
excitement increased ten-fold. Master Gus and his brother 
stood on a desk and screamed until their faces were purple. 
Two or three timorous boys managed to get outside. 

Even the quiet George, though he was honestly trying to 
catch one of the ferrets, forgot himself, and led the cheer- 
ing as the beast doubled and put itself at a safe distance 
from its pursuers. 

Half an hour passed agreeably enough — to the boys, and 
then both ferrets were run to earth under the master’s 


173 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


heavy desk. There came a sudden pause and deep silence. 

With great presence of mind Mr. Meredith, outwardly 
very calm, called out: To your places, boys! ” Every lad 
obeyed. 

The sudden silence grew very painful, and several 
threatened explosions of mirth were successfully smothered. 

“ The boy who brought those ferrets into the room, will 
be good enough to see me at half-past twelve.” 

The master’s tone* was very quiet. 

Now began Lance’s temptation. You may think that 
he had already yielded to temptation : so he had ; but the 
giving way to a desire to have a little fun was nothing to the 
fierce and overpowering thoughts that now assailed him. 
A whole host of temptations were upon him, and the worst 
was that, for a time, he did not see that he was being 
tempted. This is one of the saddest things that can happen 
to any one of us. 

It was clear to Lance that Mr. Meredith took a very 
serious view of the escapade : it was natural that he should. 
The entire Study-hall had been upset; the whole discipline 
of the school set at nought; a most valuable part of the 
morning wasted. Somebody would be severely punished, 
and the tempter whispered that it should not, ought not, 
must not be Lance himself. A score of apparently excel- 
lent reasons why he should not own up, leapt into Lance’s 
mind. 

The first one was that only he and Gareth knew who were 
the real culprits. Nobody guessed that they had brought 


LANCES BIG TEMPTATION 


173 


the ferrets into the room. Not even Gus Byrse could be 
sure that the ferret had been held by Lance. The entire 
business had happened so quickly and so suddenly. Of 
course if Mr. Meredith put the question Lance would an- 
swer it truthfully; but why should he incriminate himself 
needlessly ? 

Again: Lance had been taught that the intention of an 
action was the really important thing. In his own mind he 
knew very well that he had not brought the ferrets into 
school in order to create a sensation. There had been a 
time in his life when a lark of that sort would have ap- 
pealed to him irresistibly. Into the school-room at home 
he had often introduced the least desirable specimens of 
live stock. To-day, however, his leading motive had cer- 
tainly been to save Jack Barson a walk to the Hall. 

But the temptations that seemed to Lance simply over- 
powering were these : 

If you discover yourself you will forfeit the good opinion 
of Mr. Meredith and the other masters. 

If you are birched, you will lose your chance of a prefect’s 
toga. 

For you to be punished in this way will be a sort of 
scandal. You and your brothers are expected to give the 
tone to the whole school. 

The matter will be heard of outside: whatever will the 
Guild boys think and say? 

Fancy Tommie Lethers and his grandfather and grand- 
mother hearing of your punishment ! 


174 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


You have just made an extra Communion for the Holy 
Souls, and you succeeded in getting one or two of your 
school-fellows to do the same : what will they think ? 

You are looked up to and liked by lots of people, and 
they fancy you are really good: what will they think of 
your conduct? 

What will Father Horbury say? 

Above all — what a trouble it will be to your mother ! 

These and a host of similar thoughts came to Lance as he 
sat at his desk and tried in vain to get on with his school- 
work : not clearly and one by one as I have put them down 
here, but in a confused crowd these questions of the Tempt- 
er rushed through his mind and made him almost incapable 
of reasoning quietly and connectedly. 

Dread of the physical pain was not the least of his 
temptations. Though he was strong and healthy and had 
pluck enough for half a dozen boys of his age, he was one 
of those nervous, highly-strung lads to whom a flogging 
means so much more than to their duller and less delicately- 
organized companions. It seemed to Lance such a very 
long time since he had been punished in this way. It was 
well over a year, and to a boy in his early teens a year is an 
age. Moreover, to be whipped by a master was such a very 
different thing to getting birched at home. Father was 
always so very merciful in his use of the rod, so considerate 
and loving once the punishment was over; but the quiet, 
self-contained, somewhat stiff, and very athletic Mr. Mere- 
dith was a person in every way to be feared. 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


175 


Surely this November morning was the longest on 
record ! Fortunately, as regards their school-work all the 
boys were in the same box. They had all missed that quiet 
time of looking-over in the Study-hall; most of them went 
to the class-rooms unprepared. They would all miss the 
mid-morning half-hour’s playtime: that had been antici- 
pated, said Mr. Meredith, by the ferret hunt. In most of 
the class-rooms the boys were turned back and set to silent 
studies. Lance’s tempter made the most of his opportunity. 

The clock struck twelve: the Angeliis was said aloud — 
slowly and reverently as the custom was. With burning 
cheeks and a throbbing head, Lance said it with the rest. 
In his own mind he had as yet come to no decision. He 
was still tempted by the devil. His good Angel had not 
left him, but within him the Tempter was raising such a 
storm that Lance could attend to nothing else-r 

A quarter-past twelve! Within the next fifteen minutes, 
the boy reminded himself, he must decide what course to 
take. 

It seemed like an answer to the half-prayer that he was 
now making — though, of course, it was nothing of the 
kind. A servant entered the class-room and handed Mr. 
Meredith a card. Lance distinctly heard the master say, 
“ Dear me, I’d forgotten that I made the appointment for 
a quarter-past twelve. Say I will come at once.” 

Leaving the boys to the care of a prefect, Mr. Meredith 
at once left the room. Lance could scarcely conceal his 
satisfaction. To him, this accidental circumstance looked 


176 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


like a special providence. It seemed certain that Mr. Mere- 
dith would not return for the closing of morning schools. 

He did not, and the moment the signal was given Lance 
sprang to his feet. Gareth was in another class-room of 
course, and Lance must see him at once. Whatever was 
done they must act together. Gareth’s first words were not 
encouraging. 

“ I s’pose we’ll both get it pretty hot, Lannie ? ” 

“ Let’s get away, somewhere,” suggested Lance. “ We 
needn’t let on to everybody.'' 

Though they might immediately have found themselves 
on the way home they both wandered off to an empty class- 
room. 

“Where’s Poker?” asked the scared-looking younger 
brother: Poker, I am sorry to say, was Mr. Meredith’s 
nick-name. 

“ Engaged,” replied Lance. 

“ Got to wait for him, haven’t we ? ” 

Lance did not reply. 

“ Father Horbury came into our school this morning and 
had a talk with Cuffs.” (This was the reprehensible way 
in which the boys spoke of Mr. Wytson — whose wristbands 
may have been a little exaggerated. ) “ Cuffs said that 

Poker was awfully angry, and that the chap who let the 
ferrets loose is safe for a twelver with the birch.” 

Lance twitched involuntarily, but said nothing. He was 
thinking — hard. Among other things he was thinking 
that at Gareth’s a^e matter was not quite so serious : he 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


177 


would get off lightly. His younger brother was not at his 
ease, that was clear enough : at the same time, Lance could 
not but admire the other’s attempt to take the affair coolly, 
and to assume the inevitableness, as well as the severity, of 
the punishment. Lance felt ashamed of himself. 

“ Look here,” he said, I don’t see why^ you should 
figure in this business at all. Poker wouldn’t birch you, of 
course ; and unless he questions you I don’t think you need 
be on in this scene. You didn’t let the other beast loose on 
purpose, did you ? ” 

“’Course I did!” 

Lance was a little staggered, and showed it. The two 
boys looked at each other in silence — Gareth wearing what 
was meant to be a smile. Lance did not even attempt to 
smile. He was however just beginning to speak when he 
suddenly heard a footstep in the corridor outside. 

“There’s Poker!” exclaimed Gareth, paling somewhat. 

Lance walked to the door — heavily, so that the click of 
his clogs might be distinctly heard. He did not want 
Mr. Meredith to think he was hiding. Opening the door 
and looking down the corridor, Lance saw — not his master 
but Mr. Wytson. 

For an instant the boy drew back, but only for an instant. 

“ Don’t you wait for me,” he whispered to his brother. 
“ I’m going to have a talk with Mr. Wytson.” 

In a moment the Tempter had vanished. Before Lance 
had time to speak Mr. Wytson guessed at what was coming 
— a portion of it at least. Very rapidly and somewhat con- 


178 


LANCE'S BIG TEMPT ATION 


fusedly Lance told his thoughts and fears, his temptation — 
as well as his fault. 

“ Of course, sir, I know now that I’ve got to be pun- 
ished,” he said, because I’m telling you all this instead of 
waiting to tell it to Mr. Meredith — at any rate the larky 
part. And if you wouldn’t mind telling him for me when 
he’s disengaged, sir, I should feel that everything was all 
right. Well, not exactly all right, of course, until I’ve had 
the punishment, but what I mean is — well, sir, you know 
what I mean, don’t you?” 

“ I think I do, Lance. You mean that you are now rid of 
any further temptation to evade justice, and that you are 
speaking to me not as a friend but as a master? ” 

” Of course, sir.” 

Very wed. I need not say how sorry I am, Lannie : 
but I’m afraid punishment is inevitable. I’m not sure that 
it would be right in me to try and beg you ofY : considering 
the circumstances, I really don’t think it would. At the 
same time, I think I can relieve you of some of your 
fears. There is not the least necessity for publicity. Both 
Mr. Meredith and I can keep a secret to ourselves — don’t 
you think ? ” 

Lance took the master’s hand in both his own. He could 
not speak. 

Leave it all to me, Lannie. I will see Mr. Meredith 
and arrange everything for the end of afternoon schools. 
He will be awfully sorry it is you. As a matter of fact, we 
both thought we knew the culprit. If Mr. Meredith had 


LANCETS BIG TEMPTATION 


179 


not been called away we should have been going into the 
case now/’ 

Lance was a little late for dinner, but nobody asked 
incriminating questions. 

Said Harry to Lance as they left the school together at 
half-past four, “ I expected a row this afternoon — didn’t 
you? D’ye think Poker forgot all about that ferret busi- 
ness this morning?” 

'' Don’t think it’s likely,” said Lance with an attempt 
at a laugh. 

“ Well, I’m pretty sure he thought he’d spotted the 
chap who brought them to school. But he’s so shortsighted 
he never can be sure of a fellow. Says we all look so much 
alike in these blouses. Never remembers a name.” 

“ What fellow did he spot, do you think? ” asked Lance. 

“ Why young Archie Turton-Brown, of course. Isn’t 
he always bringing some vermin or other into school? ” 
Only white mice and that sort of trash.” 

Yes, but I could see Poker was looking at Archie 
suspiciously. I’ll bet you he calls him out to-morrow 
morning.” 

“ We shall see,” said Lance. 

Where are your books, Lannie ? ” asked Harry. 

This was the question Lance was waiting for. 

Must have left them on my desk,” he said. Shall 
have to go back and fetch ’em. Don’t you wait.” 

Harry did not wait. His brothers were already ahead. 


i8o 


LANCETS BIG TEMPTATION 


Lance was nearly an hour late for tea. Greatly hoping 
that his mother had already gone to the nursery he looked 
into the dining-room. She was sitting there — sewing as 
usual. He could not run away. 

My darling!” she exclaimed, “what is the matter? 
You look quite — haggard ! ” 

He kissed her in silence and would have turned away, 
but she caught and held him and took his face between her 
hands. She saw that he was in great pain. 

“ It’s all right mammie — nozv’' he said brokenly, but 
with a brave smile. 

She checked her sobs until she had kissed him again and 
left the room. 

Among his letters on the following morning Mr. Mere- 
dith found this note: 

Dear Sir, — I do hope you won’t think that I brought the 
ferrets to school on purpose to let them loose. I really did 
not. The chap who was taking them to our house is an 
errand-lad, and as he had no parcel for us I did not want 
him to waste his master’s time, so I took them from him. 
I only wanted to make Gus Byrse jump a bit, but the ferret 
wriggled and tried to bite and I dropped him. Then before 
I could catch him again the row began. I do hope you will 
believe this because it is the real truth. 

I remain, dear Sir, 

Yours obediently, 

Lance Ridingdale. 


LANCE’S BIG TEMPTATION 


i8i 


Mr. Meredith read the note through three times and then 
silently handed it to Mr. Wytson. 

“ He didn’t breathe a word of this to me yesterday ! ” 
exclaimed Wytson. Both men looked distressed. “ You 
believe him, of course ? ” 

Believe him ! ” — Meredith spoke sharply — I’d take his 
word before the evidence of my own eyes : though consid- 
ering my eyesight that’s not saying much.” 

“ Why on earth couldn’t he have said this to us last 
night ! ” said Mr. Wytson with a groan. 

“ Because he couldn’t. ’Tisn’t in him. He’d be flayed 
alive before he excused himself. That’s the Ridingdale 
spirit.” 

“ Wish we had more of it ! ” 

“ Don’t know how you feel, Wytson: I feel a brute.” 

“ I feel like — asking for a holiday. What’s the day of 
the month ? ” 

Well, if it’s not the 21st it’s the 22nd,” said Mr. Mere- 
dith glancing at a calendar on the mantel-piece : '' yes, it’s 
the 22nd.” 

“ Then it’s the feast of St. Cecilia ! ” exclaimed Mr. 
Wytson jumping up from the breakfast-table. “ Til see Fa- 
ther Horbury this very moment. In a musical school like 
this we ought to have a holiday on such a day.’’ 

“ I don’t object, and I don’t think his Reverence will.” 

His Reverence did not object. 

Nor did the boys object. They assembled at nine o’clock 
as usual, some of them expecting — well, anything but a 


LANCE’S Bid TEMPTATION 


182 

holiday. Mr. Meredith was presiding in the Study-hall and 
said the prayers just as on an ordinary day. Then he made 
a speech. It was short and to the point. 

Boys, you will expect me to refer to that serious breach 
of discipline in which most of you took part yesterday 
morning. I want to tell you that the — ringleader gave 
himself up yesterday and was promptly, I may say severely, 
punished. In fact, he received the heaviest penalty that the 
rules of this school allow. I am not going to give his name, 
and if you are the gentlemen I take you all to be, not one 
of you will ever try to find it out. Indeed, I beg of you as a 
special favour to myself and to the boy who has — suffered, 
that you will abstain from asking one another any question 
whatever relating to this affair. You may think that this is 
asking too much; but when I tell you that the boy might 
easily, very easily, have escaped all punishment, you will 
understand that I do not wish him to suffer further by being 
pointed at as the boy who was birched. And when I tell 
you that even when he had declared himself to be the culprit 
he omitted to mention a most important circumstance, and 
one which, had I known it, would certainly have mitigated 
the punishment — might have changed its character alto- 
gether — you will I am sure be doubly anxious to spare the 
feelings of — yes, I must say it, this very honourable and 
noble lad. Myself, far from thinking the worse of him for 
what he has suffered, I thank God for sending us such a 
boy.” 

Talk of three hearty British cheers — well, the Unknown 


LANCETS BIG TEMPTATION 183 

got three times thrice repeated. And this though not a 
single boy in the room knew of the impending holiday. 

Lance knew, though. He was not in the Study-hall. 
While Mr. Meredith was speaking Lance and the senior 
prefect were blowing up the footballs. Mr. Wytson had 
caught Lance before nine o’clock, and telling him of the 
holiday, sent him to the ball-shop. 

“ I say,^’ remarked the boy-prefect to Lance, “ how long 
are the chaps going to keep up that yelling? They seem to 
have taken leave of their senses. Have we had a victory of 
any sort ? 

“ Shouldn’t wonder,” smiled Lance. 



LANCE IN LONDON 






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LANCE IN LONDON. 


“ To London, mother ! 

And with the Col- 
onel?” 

The laugh that had 
fixed itself on Lance’s 
face for so many years 
— always excepting 
those seasons of sad- 
ness which, as a rule, 
were of the briefest — 
died completely away. 

Incredulity was in 
every line of his coun- 
tenance. 

“ Yes, dear, and there’s no time to lose,” said Mrs. Rid- 
ingdale, smiling at her son’s astonishment. “ The Colonel 
goes by the 8.10 train to-morrow morning.” 

But — but you are sure, mother, he really wants me? ” 

‘‘ Quite, Lannie. And the best thing you can do is to 
pack a little portmanteau at once,” said Mrs. Ridingdale 
putting down her sewing and taking Lance’s arm. “ Let us 
do it now.” 

Grown men have been far less excited at the prospect 

187 



LANCE IN LONDON 


iSo 

of starting for the North Pole than was Lance at the idea 
of finding himself in London. He had been to Lord Dales- 
worth’s two or three times, and he had once spent a few 
days at Scarborough ; but London was as strange to him as 
St. Petersburg. 

It was a very happy boy that stood on the Ridingdale 
platform the next morning, his tall hat and Eton suit well 
: brushed, and the light shoes he so seldom wore shining like 
two little mirrors. 

The season had barely begun, but the Colonel’s sister-in- 
law and her family had already arrived at their town house, 
and Lance received from the old lady a warm and motherly 
welcome. 

Lance’s wonder and surprise were a constant delight to 
the Colonel, who had long ago found London all but in- 
tolerable, saving for a few days now and then; and he 
smiled much oftener and more affectionately than he was 
wont when the boy lifted his rosy, eager, laughing face in 
gratitude for every fresh pleasure provided for him. 

Ought to have thought of it before,” the old man said, 
as they left the Lyceum after seeing Sir Henry in The Vicar 
of Wakefield, and the boy showed that he could hardly 
contain himself for sheer delight at the performance. 
“ Must bring up a brace of you at a time, now and then. 
Ought to see a bit of London while you’re young. Won’t 
care much for it afterwards.” 

The next night it was the opera, and Lance dined with 
the Colonel at his club. 


LANCE IN LONDON 


189 

“ One of Jack Ridingdale’s lads,” was the title his host 
gave him as he was introduced to two old warriors who 
were invited to join them. “ Awful young rip — as you can 
see.” And then sotto voce — Finest young beggar you 
ever met. Nobody like him — except his brothers.” 

So the old soldiers made much of him and told him such 
stories of brave deeds and fierce fighting that, if the Colonel 
had not interposed, the boy, sitting panting and breathless, 
and only half-conscious of the dainties on his plate, would 
have had no dinner. 

The opera was La Sonnambula, and at the end of it the 
Colonel decided within himself that one performance of this 
sort would be quite enough for Lance, at any rate during 
the present visit. For the boy had spent nearly the whole 
time in such a condition of half-suppressed excitement, al- 
ternating with sobs he could scarcely suppress, that a lady 
in the stall next to him became filled with motherly alarm, 
and plied him (to his lasting shame) with a smelling-bottle 
and much eau-de-Cologne, as well as endearing words. 

“ Fm so sorry,” he said when the opera was over and 
they got into the cab — for he was not at all sure how the 
Colonel would view this demonstration — but I really 
could not help it. And I did try so hard.” 

But to his relief his host only replied : 

'' All right, old boy. Opera’s a bit too much for you. 
To-morrow we’ll have a good laugh to make up for it.” 

They had several good laughs, as a matter of fact; for 
after seeing the conjuring and the mysteries, as well as the 


LANCE IN LONDON 


190 

funny men, at the Egyptian Hall, they assisted in the even- 
ing at the Savoy, where Lance easily led the laughter at a 
performance of The Mikado. 

It was a golden week, and when Lance got back home on 
Saturday afternoon, he entertained the family for hours 
with a detailed account of his doings and the sights he had 
seen in London. 

I only wanted you there, mammie,” he said to his 
mother as soon as they were alone. I did miss you so 
much.” 

And don’t you think I missed you, darling? ” 

“ Did you really, mother dear, and — and with all the 
others at home ? ” 

“ Ever so much, Lannie.” 

He was silent for a time — ‘‘ thinking hard,” as he would 
have said. Suddenly he knelt in his favourite attitude at 
his mother’s knee and lifted his face to hers. 

‘‘ But, mammie dear, some day — some day ” He 

could not go on : something hindered speech. 

“ Some day? ” she began very gently as she stroked his 
hair with her two hands, “ some day, my darling, I must 
part with all of you — was that what you were going to say, 
Lannie? ” 

Ye-es, mother.” 

“ It is partly because of that — that when one of my 
darlings is away, I miss him so much now. Do you under- 
stand, dear? ” 

“ I think so, mother. But — but ” 


LANCE IN LONDON 


191 

He could not bring it out — that secret of his, and yet he 
did want so much to utter it now. For like many another 
healthy-minded lad with a capacity for enjoyment that is 
worth an empire, and a simple piety that is worth infinitely 
more, his week of pleasure, intensely delightful while it 
lasted, was now causing a reaction that drove him back first 
to his mother’s arms — the only earthly Paradise that exists 
— and through that easy route to the Heart of God Himself. 

Lance took his mother’s hands and hid his face in them, 
and she felt his hot tears trickling upon her palms. 

“ What is it, darling? ” she asked soothingly. “ I don’t 
think you are in trouble, Lannie, are you? Nothing has 
gone wrong, I’m sure, for I have just received such a charm- 
ing little note from the Colonel about you.” 

Lance lifted his tear-stained face rather quickly. 

“ Have you really, mother? What does he say? ” 

Mrs. Ridingdale took the letter from her pocket and read 
it aloud. 

Afraid I can’t come up to-night : rather too late. But 
I wanted to tell you, what you already know, that Lance 
is a perfect little gentleman, and has acted as such through- 
out. Better look after him carefully. My sister-in-law de- 
clares she will kidnap him at the first opportunity.” 

Lance’s face was radiant, and “ It’s awfully good of him,” 
he said. 

“ Very thoughtful of him,” Mrs. Ridingdale admitted, 
“ though of course I could trust my boy to behave well under 
any circumstances — couldn’t I, dear? ” 


192 


LANCE IN LONDON 


“ Yes, manimie,” said Lance, returning her kiss, and then 
lapsing again into silence. 

“ But it’s so rummy, mother, I can’t understand it,” he 
broke out suddenly. “ You see, I thought — I mean I was 
afraid that I was a bit of a scamp; though, of course,” he 
added eagerly, “ I didn’t mean to be and — and, I won’t.” 

She knew something was coming and drew him closer 
towards her. 

“ Only the other day when we dined at his club, the 
Colonel told those two old gentlemen I was ‘ a regular rip ; ’ 
but you know, mother, he didn’t really seem to mean it, 
and now he writes you that note. Then there’s Father 
Horbury ” — Lance hesitated a little here — “ he — he — - 
well, of course, mammie, he knows me through and through, 
and has known me ever since I was a tiny brat; and the 
other day when I — when I asked him — Oh, mother dar- 
ling! ” the boy wailed, “ I didn’t think it would be so hard to 
tell you.” 

It was not necessary, for, as she threw her arms about 
him, she told him all that was in his mind. 

You know, my love, that I have the same affection for 
you all,” she said ; but my Lannie has had a harder strug- 
gle than some of the others, and his failures have caused him 
suffering of various sorts. But the point is, my darling, you 
have never given up trying, and so there has always been a 
certain understanding between us, and a love that is in some 
degree peculiar. Of course, I am only guessing; but am I 
not right in supposing that you have been asking Father 


LANCE IN LONDON 


193 


Horbury a very important question and that it concerns your 
vocation ? And did not my saying how much I missed you 
make you think of that ‘ some day ’ when I shall be asked to 
give you up to God — for ever ? ” 

It was so like her, Lance thought, to anticipate him in 
that way. There never had been a time in his life when she 
could not read his thoughts, once he had given her the small- 
est clue to them. 

‘‘Of course, mother, I should have told you long ago, 
only I was afraid of myself, and I thought what an awful 
thing it would be if I failed after speaking to you about it. 
Because I knew it would make you happy to think I wanted 
to be a religious, even though, when the time came, you felt 
the pull of it awfully.” 

“ God gives a special grace to mothers at such times, my 
darling, and next to the favoured souls themselves, the hap- 
piest people in the world are the near and dear ones of a re- 
ligious.” 

“ It is nice to hear you say that, mother. Father Horbury 
said something very like it. Fact, he said a lot of things 
that astonished me. I quite expected he would ask me what 
I meant by talking about entering religion, and instead of 
that he said — ‘Bravo! you’re just the fellow. Thank 
God ! ’ ” 

Lance could laugh now at the reminiscence, and his 
mother laughed too, as he added : 

“ And you see, mammie, he really does know me — down 
to the ground ! ” 









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Send us only $1.00, and we will forward the books at once. $1.00 entitles you to 
immediate possession. No further payment need be made for a month. Afterward 
you pay $1.00 a month. 

THIS IS THE EASY WAY TO GET A LIBRARY. 

And remember these are the Best Books that can be placed in the hands of Catholie 
Youth AT ANY PRICE. 


ANOTHER EASY WAY OF GETTING BOOKS. 

Each year we publish four New Novels by the best Catholic authors. These 
novels are interesting beyond the ordinary; not religious, but Catholic in tone 
and feeling. 

We ask you to give us a Standing Order for these novels. The price is $1.25 
a volume postpaid. The $5.00 is not to be paid at one time, but $1.25 each time 
a volume is published. 

As a Special Inducement for giving us a standing order for these novels, we 
will give you free a subscription to Benziger’s Magazine. This Magazine is recog- 
nized as the best and handsomest Catholic magazine published. The regular 
price of the Magazine is $2.00 a year. 

Thus for $5.00 a year — paid $1.25 at a time — you will get four good books 
and receive in addition free a year’s subscription to Benziger’s Magazine. The 
Magazine will be continued from year to year, as long as the standing order for 
the novels is in force, which will be till countermanded. 

Send $1.25 for the first novel and get your name placed on the subscription 
list of Benziger’s Magazine. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

36 and 38 Barclay Street. 343 Main Street. 21 1 and 213 Madison Street. 


Small size reproductions of the colored art pictures appearing in Benziger's Magazine. 






BmZlOER'S AM@\Z1N£ 

The Popular Catholic Family Monthly 
With a number of Colored Art Supplements each year. 

SUBSCRIPTION, |2.oo A YEAR. 

WHAT BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE FURNISHES IN A SINGLE YEAR: 

Fine Art Pictures in colors, suitable for framing:, size 9 x 13^ inches. 

Fifty complete stories, equal to a book selling at $1.25. 

Three complete novels, equal to three books selling at $1.25 each. 

1000 illustrations, including many full-page reproductions of celebrated paintings. 
Twenty articles on travel and adventure, equal to a book of 150 pages. 

Twenty articles on our country, historic events, etc., equal to a book of 150 pages. 

Twenty articles on painting, music, sculpture, etc., equal to a book of 150 pages. 
Twelve pages of games and amusements for the young. 

An unsurpassed Woman’s Department, with many helpful suggestions. 

Current Events : Important happenings described with pen and pictures. 

Twelve prize competitions, in which valuable prizes are offered. 

Benziger's Magazine is recommended by 70 Archbishops and Bishops of the United States. 


V 

“ Let the adornments of home be chaste and holy pictures, and, still more, sound, interesting, 
and profitable books.” — III. Plenary Council of Baltimore. 

SUBSCRIBE TO 






BOOKS FOR THE CATHOLIC FAMILY 

AT POPULAR PRICES. 

POPULAR INSTRUCTIONS ON PRAYER. By Very Rev. Ferreol Girardey, C.SS.R. 
Paper, $0.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

POPULAR INSTRUCTIONS TO PARENTS ON THE BRINGING UP OF CHILDREN. 

By Very Rev. Ferreol Girardey, C.SS.R. 32mo. Paper, $0.25; cloth, $0.40. 

POPULAR INSTRUCTIONS ON MARRIAGE. By Very Rev. Ferreol Girardey, C.SS.R. 
32mo. Paper, fo.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

INSTRUCTIONS ON THE COMMANDMENTS AND SACRAMENTS. By St. Alphonsus 
de Liguori. 321110. Paper, !5o.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

THE CHRISTIAN FATHER. What He Should Be and What He Should Do. 32mo. Paper, 
$0.25 ; cloth, fo.40. 

THE CHRISTIAN MOTHER. The Education of Her Children and Her Prayer. 32mo. 
Paper, $0.25 ; cloth, $0.40. 

CATHOLIC BELIEF. By Very Rev. Fak di Bruno. i6nio. Paper, $0 25; cloth, $0.50. 

WHAT THE CHURCH TEACHES. An Answer to Earnest Inquirers. By Rev. E. Drury. 
i6ino. Paper. |o 30 ; cloth, $0.60. 

SPIRITUAL PEPPER AND SALT, for Catholics and Non-Catholics. By Rt. Rev. W. 
Stang, D.D. i6mo. Paper, $0.30; cloth, $0.60. 

CATHOLIC CERE.MONIES AND EXPLANATION OF THE ECCLESIASTICAL YEAR. 

By the Abb^ Durand. With illustrations. i6mo. Paper, $0.30; cloth, $0.60. 

THE SACRAMENTALS OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. By Rev. A. A. Lambing. With 
illustrations. i6mo. Paper, $0.30 ; cloth, $0.60. 

EXPLANATION OP THE GOSPELS AND OF CATHOLIC WORSHIP. By Rev. L. A. 
Lambert and Rev. R. Brennan. With illustrations. i6mo. Paper, $0.30; cloth, $0.60. 

CATHOLIC PRACTICE AT CHURCH AND AT HOME. The Parishioner’s Little Rule 
Book. By Rev. A. L. A. Klauder. With illustrations. i6mo. Paper, $0 30 ; cloth, $0.60. 

ILLUSTRATED EXPLANATION OF THE CREED. By Rev. H. Rolfus. With Numerous 
Examples from Scripture, the Holy Fathers, etc. With many full-page illustrations. 
i6mo, cloth, $1.00. 

ILLUSTRATED EXPLANATION OF THE HOLY SACRAMENTS. With Numerous Ex- 
amples from Scripture, the Holy Fathers, etc. Illustrated. i6mo, cloth, $1.00. 

ILLUSTRATED EXPLANATION OF THE COMMANDMENTS. By Rev. H. Rolfus. 
With Numerous Examples from Scripture, the Holy Fathers, etc. Illustrated. i6mo, 
cloth, $1.00. 

GOFFINF/S DEVOUT INSTRUCTIONS ON THE EPISTLES AND GOSPELS. Illustrated 
Edition. Preface by Cardinal Gibbons. 140 illustrations. 704 pages. 8vo, cloth, $1.00. 

LIVES OF THE SAINTS.* With Reflections for Every Day. Numerous full-page illustra- 
tions. 400 pages. 8vo, cloth, $1.50. 

PICTORIAL LIVES OP THE SAINTS. With nearly 400 illustrations. 600 pages. 8vo, 
cloth, $2.50. 

, For sale by all Catholic bookseller's, or se7it postpaid O'l receipt of j)rice by the imblishers, 

. BENZIGER BROTHERS. 

f 

!■ ' New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

36-38 Barclay Street. 343 Main Street. 21 1-213 Madison Street. 



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